


As a Cat

by DemolishedbyNeglect



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Cliche, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemolishedbyNeglect/pseuds/DemolishedbyNeglect
Summary: When Harry is faced with his Happy Ending, he turns into a cat to escape it.Now edited for mistakes.





	As a Cat

Harry's palms were sweating. He felt rush of nausea approaching and tried to calm his breath. They were standing underneath flowery arch, its white roses giving off a sweet intoxicating smell, that only unsettled Harry's stomach further. Ginny didn't appear to notice. She was smiling sweetly at the crowd settled on chairs in front of the arch, the seats for wedding guests, occupied only by Weasleys at the moment. George went out of his way to whistle at the couple. He and Ron were sitting at the back.

This is only a rehearsal, Harry told himself for a nineteenth time. Play pretend. Make believe. But his body didn't listen, as he shifted on wooden legs and unbuttoned his collar.

“You're pale,” smirked Ginny.

“Am I?” he gave her a weak smile.

“Not thinking of ditching me off at the last moment, are you?”

Harry tried to laugh. It came out as a squeak. This was supposed to be the best moment of his entire life. Gone were his suspicions he went for the other team, he now knew for certain he preferred the same sex. His mind clear and determined to go through the wedding nonetheless, yet his body seemed to recoil at the last moment. He didn't understand why, it's not like his body knew what is it, exactly, he was refusing it by marrying a woman. He never even kissed a bloke, only Cho and Ginny. And kissing was all they ever did, thank God. He was aware that matrimonial vows required more bodily participations than that, but he was certain he could do it.

After all, this was the biggest event in his life since the Battle of Hogwarts. Everybody was coming. Almost. Everyone he knew went out of their way to wish him happiness and they were all very sure, that this was the road to it. Well, almost everyone. Snape didn't confirm he was coming. And Harry was absolutely-fucking-fine with it. Really.

It wasn't even about the wedding, Harry told himself. The bloke just didn't like him, period. He sat every day of the man's recovery in St. Mungo's, beside his bed, while the professor was unconscious. His body ached with unexpressed gratitude. He even held the man's hand. Bony, warm hand with spidery fingers and tidy half-moon nails. It had felt like an embrace. But as soon as the man came to his senses Harry was banned from Snape's ward. And Harry knew, he _knew_ , all that animosity and hatred between them was never forgiven. But still, somewhere deep inside Harry felt that Snape didn't just decline the invitation because of Harry. It felt like he didn't approve. Like he didn't approve of him sneaking around after curfew and trying to interfere with Order business. Like he was doing something wrong. Which, Harry knew he wasn't. Not really.

 

***

 

The big day came and Harry found himself standing across Ginny Weasley, stunning in a beautiful white Wizarding Robes, while sheer bloody terror raced through his veins. It was worse than at rehearsal. Worse than what he felt riding the dragon out of Gringotts. The adrenaline made him sweat and his knees shook mercilessly. He was blabbering all through the morning and now he was simply sure the only sound his mouth could produce was a screeching. In that moment, when the Ministry official asked him to recite his wedding vows, it happened. Harry Potter had disappeared. And the black cat slithered through the ankles of few guests and slipped beneath the punch table.

 

***

 

Snape avoided the newspaper today. Which was odd, as the reason behind it was the exactly same reason why he routinely scoured the paper, not missing one detail of the coming celebration. He read everything concerning the Hero's Big Day in a fit of masochistic rage at his own weakness. He reasoned that exposure must be the cure for his... sensitivity towards this particular event. Not unlike the small doses of Nagini's venom he injected in his veins, his mind was full of details on the trim of bride's wedding gown, the levels of the cake and small comments from Weasley and Granger about the coming wedding. How morbid.

So, rather than sit at the table, lips numb, with carefully measured breath, as he acquainted himself with Daily Prophet, today was the day he choose not to touch the paper. It left him reeling, the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite believe this event was to take place on the date announced. Potter, too beautiful for his own good, was a dream he engaged in only when times got rough and days grew colder. Only when he felt his composure slip, only when he needed that small dose of respite, blissfully away from Dark Lords and their machinations. Foolish, foolish dream. He couldn't quite come to terms with it slipping away, impossible and out of reach.

Instead, he had his eggs with dash of scallion he grew in the back garden. Made his way to the basement, to his shabby brewery. Two tables stood a meter from each other in the middle of the room. The space was magically enhanced. Five cauldrons and scales. Then the ventilation system – two small windows charmed to push the fumed air out. The ingredients were stocked in cabinet at the first floor, but of course, he only stored the most basic herbs, frog brains, gnat heads, leeches.

The Ministry considered him a war hero, a lip service, their list of basic potions he could brew said otherwise. Pepperup, hiccoughing potion, only something a third year could brew. Enough for him to make a living, just barely. He sold the potions to Diagon Alley apothecary, to grumpy old Jenkins.

The afternoon had come and gone and Snape found himself drinking McGonagall's special tea.

The sun was still out, filling the room with impossible heat and Snape's thoughts had gravitated towards the Boy-Who-Lived yet again. It's not like it came unexpected, this marriage. The happily ever after of Potter’s school romance with the Weasley girl. The boy must have longed for a family and now he was building his own, no doubt with three kids he'd call some variation of his parent’s names. It suited him, truly, it did. The life of the respected Auror and, with time, a pillar of Wizarding community. The kind of life that had no place for miscreants such as himself.

Snape put the empty mug on a table and stretched his bones. Somewhere, under his ribs his heart beat at an odd rhythm. It shied away from steady healthy beat and he felt as if it was a bird, caught in a cage. Fluttering quietly, madly in panic. But nothing could be done.

 

***

 

The next morning’s paper read “The-Boy-Who-Disappeared” in capital letters. The bride was in shock. Although rumor had said she flipped the cake upside down in rage. The Wizarding World was ripe with speculation. Who could possibly be powerful enough to kidnap the great Harry Potter? Was some kind of Dark Ritual performed? Or the groom simply changed his mind at the last minute? The Aurors said to be on it. Rita Skeeter speculated the event had something to do with Potter-Granger love affair from years before.

Ginny had sat there all through the night with Hermione and Ron, trying to figure out what had happened. Harry was nowhere to be found. Molly and Arthur took care of the guests. There was anti-apparition barrier around the Burrow, intended to keep the press and the gapers out. Harry couldn't have apparated right from the altar.

“Look, here's you reciting your vows Ginny,” Hermione passed her the photograph of altar with Harry and Ginny in it.

They had all went to sleep after staying up all night, and now Ron had gone to photographer after the pictures.

“And then there's the next one,” the man stared perplexed at the picture of Ginny Weasley looking around, her brows furrowed.

“This is a dead end,” Ginny uttered, frustrated.

And at Spinners End no less frustrated, perplexed and in shock was the great spy, Severus Snape. He reasoned there was simply no way Potter would voluntarily leave the Weasley girl at the altar. He knew the Burrow has been heavily warded against intruders, the brat couldn't have apparated without the wand and it was found lying there at the steps of the altar. If Daily Prophet to be believed. What a mystery. Of course it was just like the boy to make a mess and a spectacle out of his own matrimony. How typical. Of course logic dictated that there was some magic involved, magic that reached through the wards on the house and seized the fool... but Snape wasn't so sure. Potter had a way of bending the rules, after all. Snape wouldn't be surprised if this was exactly the case.

 

***

 

Harry came to himself in the arms of little girl, no younger than four. She was petting him and speaking softly in his year. She was also a giant. Her palms were the size of his entire head and she held his entire body with only her hands.

“Mary, sweetheart, you know you can't take the cat home with you, right?”

“He comes with us,” the hands around Harry tightened, “Please, mommy.”

“He can't come with us.”

The cat meowed. What Harry wanted to say, however, was “Excuse me”. They were walking around in a crowd and the girl smelled of faintly of chocolate and her mother smelled like hair spray.

“How about this honey,” the woman face was suddenly right above him as she crouched in front of her daughter, “I'll take you to Fortescue’s shop and you can pick yourself whatever flavor you want. But we leave this little fella here.”

Before he knew it he was set gently on a cobblestone road and kissed goodbye. Mary had taken her mother’s hand and took off. Then suddenly there were feet all around poor Harry. Feet that smelled funny and those that positively reeked. They came at him from both sides and Harry ran dashing around them, to the back alley at the side of the road. He didn't know where he was, but it smelled like Diagon Alley and Harry couldn't tell how he knew that, just like he couldn't tell why he was so unreasonably small.

He reached the damp alley and cowered himself in a corner of it. Finally he was able to take a shaky breath and think about what was going on. It all came to him slowly. The wedding, the vows – and then a blur, disjointed sounds and pictures. The girl, the floo and then the Diagon Alley. He even recognized the mother as Weasley's distant cousin. She must have been at the wedding where they picked him up.

Crap. He was in trouble. How did this happen? What went wrong?

Magic! It must have been at fault. All he remembered was his magic and body acting funny these past couple of days. And then the moment at the altar. The painful desire to be anywhere but not there, be anything rather than himself. A fleeting desperate wish to run away and then the sudden rush of power, as magic filled his veins. Oh, no!

This was his doing, then. He has done accidental magic back when he lived with Dursleys. He knew how it felt. Dear God, how would he explain to his friends what happened? What would Ron think? What would Ginny think? He should try and turn back right now, until they thought something terrible happened to him.

Harry closed his eyes and imagined himself turning back into human form. His muscles tense, his imagination vivid with green eyes and short skinny Harry Potter. Any time now. Any time.

Nothing happened. His feet were paws and he could feel his tail twitching.

This was a disaster. He pondered what had made him transform himself into a cat, to escape the fate he'd chosen for himself. He imagined Ginny's face when he told her it was a burst of accidental magic that had led them here. Not a Death Eater plot but his own wish to be elsewhere. Her face got angry and then it transformed into Ron's red angry face, screaming at him. Ron's face became the disappointed faces of Arthur and Molly Weasley and finally the accusing glare of Hermione. He meowed desperately at the overwhelming guilt. He couldn't go back into the Burrow. Not like this, not until he could transform and explain everything as a human.

He closed his eyes and tucked his paws under himself and drifted to restless sleep. Well, if couldn't go back he would just stay here. How long the spell would last? A day, a week, maybe month? Eventually the course of magic would run out.

Until then, he was stuck in the Diagon Alley. Smelling of rotten vegetables and owl litter. Maybe he could ask for some ice cream from Mary, he was getting a little hungry. He didn't even eat anything today due to the queasy stomach and he was starting to really regret it. With these thoughts in mind Harry drifted gently to sleep, forgetting his worries for a moment.

 

***

 

When Harry awoke again, it was early morning. Sounds of shops opening up and rare footsteps reached him in his corner of the alley. His stomach rumbled and he prowled into the main road in search of something to eat. Down and down he went, passing the Fortescue’s and the Broom Shop, something that smelled like an apothecary and read “Jenkins Potions” and Book Shop, until he reached a little showcase, that smelled heavenly.

Harry leaned on window display, supporting himself by the back paws. Sandwiches. All kind of them. With pork and cucumber, tomatoes and chicken, beef and salad. His tail twitched excitedly. He couldn't pay for them, of course, but maybe he could look around for something in the junk.

He tried to jump over the counter only to slide down the window. The shop owner, a young man with fair hair was looking at him. He released a chuckle. Offended, Harry tried again. And again. He came at the counter this way and that, he clawed at the glass and fifteen minutes later he was mewing in misery, hungry, staring at the delicious snack.

“Are you quite finished with your stunts, buddy?” barked the owner.

Harry jumped once more and this attempt was as successful, as the others had been. The owner took his wand out and tapped in on the counter. The counter split in two and he stepped through it, right in front of the cat, a sandwich in his other hand. He bent and placed it on the floor, one hand reaching to pet Harry. As the cat took the offered food into his mouth, the guy returned back behind the window.

The meat tasted wonderful, but Harry was hungry enough to wolf down the bread and salad, although the bread tasted like ash in his mouth. The day was looking up already. The morning went as expected, as Harry ran up and down the alley careful to avoid human feet. The summer was hot and the air was quickly filled with scents of deodorant and sweat. Once, Harry stopped to read the prophet, his own face plastered on a front page. The article said speculated he might have been kidnapped by a Death Eaters. Familiar dread crept into his chest. He felt guilty. The Weasleys must be beside himself with worry.

Something caught the corner of his eye. A man in black billowing robes and acrid smelling robes strode past where he was perched on a stack of boxes. Harry was just lazing around in the midday sun when he jumped from his post and rushed after the man. He caught up with the man and brushed against his legs. Here, up close, he could smell the Potion Master’s scent under the fumes staining his robes. He smelled faintly of pepper and lemons, underlining pleasant musky scent.

“Snape!” Harry thought affectionately. The rush of hope the man would recognize him, made Harry run after the man and rub against his legs.

“Bloody Hell,” Snape stopped dead. “I don't recall bathing in catnip this morning.”

“Rrmeow.”

“Stop this foolishness immediately.”

He stepped over a sleek black cat and continued his way over to the Jenkin's. There was a big batch of Heat Relieving potion he brewed; it would go well with the customers. The summer has been relentless this year, each day hotter than the next. Many times Severus was tempted to waste precious ingredients on himself and give into some relief from the suffocating air. But he couldn't reason it would be wise, considering the state of his finances.

The cat ran after him till he closed the door of the shop in front of his cute little muzzle.

“Mister Snape.”

“Good day, Mr. Jenkins.”

“We hardly need more Pepperup in this weather, do we? What brings you here?” the old man barked.

“Ah, I have something that might get your attention,” Snape answered smoothly.

He’d gotten three sickles from each potion. Of course Snape hoped to negotiate at least five, but Jenkins wouldn't bulge and he was really short on money. He departed the place thirty minutes later in a foul mood. The bothersome little creature that followed him before chased him again, but he apparated in the corner of next shop.

“Dammit!” - Harry cried as Snape disappeared in front of him. He meowed and circled the place Snape was standing in just a second ago. Harry waited half an hour before that shop and Snape still slipped away. He was sure the man would find something amiss with his behavior, if only he spent a minute actually looking at him. Harry hoped his new form still showed his scar. But now when he thought about it, why would it? He certainly didn't need glasses anymore.

The day had gone by and by the late evening Harry was hungry again. Worst of all, he was thirsty. He managed to eat the ice-cream someone dropped on a pavement, but that only made his thirst greater. So he ventured into Leaky Cauldron for some food. Tom noticed him first:

“Do you wish to order, maybe?”

“Meow.”

“No? Then you're passing by?”

Harry jumped on a barstool. Tom regarded him for a second. The goblin sitting near him scowled and purposefully turned away.

“Very well,” shrugged the wizard and went away.

When he came back he had a bowl of chicken bones and meat. He placed it on a counter:

“My grandma always warned me against feeding strays,” he smiled wistfully. “Let’s agree this goes into your account.”

The cat meowed enthusiastically and dug into the bones. Harry promised he would pay back Tom double for his kindness. The food tasted heavenly and he even managed to get a bowl of water after.

This way the week went. Each morning Harry would try to change back into the human but it never worked. He spent his day at Diagon Alley, watching the wizards and witches do their shopping. Whenever he got hungry he got back to the Leaky and at evenings Tom would let him to spend the night at the bar. He would curl up beneath a chair and sleep, until at precisely six o'clock the place was opened for the customers.

The papers still speculated on his whereabouts and Harry was both relieved and worried at the fact his friends and Ginny declined to comment. At least if they said something, he would know what they were thinking and where they were looking for him. And he was sure there was plenty of looking.

Month passed, it was thirty first of July, but no matter how hard Harry tried to change back – nothing worked. More and more he would curl up at the corner of some shop and lay there for hours, staring vacantly into space. He lost his appetite and, as a consequence, lost some weight. Since Diagon Alley was a home for quite a few strays he tried to communicate with them. He ended up fighting large gray tabby and barely escaped with his wits intact. His fur lost its shine and he couldn't be bothered with cleaning himself. The guilt over leaving Ginny at the altar was weighting him down and on top of everything else he caught fleas. They bit into his skin all through the day and night and he would catch his skin between his jaws, bite it and try to crush them. He felt miserable.

Harry was reading the morning paper at magazine stand when familiar acrid smell caught his attention. He followed the man and his black billowing robes at a distance, careful not to get caught under somebody's feet. It was Snape again, but this time after leaving the apothecary he didn't rush to leave. He passed further into the alley heading for Gringotts.

Hesitantly, the boy followed. But Snape didn't stop at Gringotts. No, by the looks of it Knockturn was his stop. Harry's curiosity piqued. What could possibly Snape be looking for there? Something illegal, he supposed. Ingredients for his potions, maybe.

He followed Snape as he went into a bar. The place wasn't charmed against familiars and Harry found himself standing in greasy, dim lit place. People of all kinds were drinking there. Wizards in torn grey robes and wizards in expensive robes.

Snape was sitting at the booth with a tall man. They were speaking in hushed tones. Harry caught only the end of their conversation:

“If there's any news, you shall contact me.”

“My assistance comes at price, Snape,” said the man. “What do you have to offer me?”

“I pay my debts, Shaw.”

“Fine, but as I've said, there's been nothing.”

Snape sighed. It was a short conversation. He was going through his old contacts, searching for a sliver of information about Potter. There was only silence on all ends, not even a hint of where the boy might be. It was already a month past since Boy-Who-Lived disappeared, but still there was no sign of him. If there was a chance the dim-witted fool escaped of his own free will, surely he wouldn't let his friends and the Weasleys worry.

Snape considered getting dinner at this place. Going back and cooking cabbage stew would be cheaper. He paid for Shaw's drink, a small courtesy on his side and went on his way. The streets of Knockturn were mostly empty at this hour; he turned left at the alley and prepared to leave, when a he felt a gentle rush of air near his shoulder. He ducked and jumped and the spell that was supposed to hit him smashed the wall. Red brick exploded and fine layer of powder ended up on Snape's robe. He cast a shielding charm, turned, straightened and looking around.

Two men were in the alley with him. It was no larger than ten square meters in size, and once the dust settled he could clearly see their faces. He did not recognize them. They were dressed in clean, but worn robes and both were inebriated by the looks of it.

“Blood-traitor,” one of the men spat.

“Charming,” Snape drawled as he glared at the wall where the spell had hit. “And you are?”

“None of your business, you prick,” yelled the taller man and another Bombarda was launched Severus's way.

“Protego!” muttered Snape. “Aqua Eructo!” a jet of clear water erupted from his wand and hit the attackers.

The force of the spell knocked both men backwards onto their asses and he was prepared to launch the final attack, when the shorter man howled with pain. He was trashing from side to side and waving his wand yelling hexes, and the second man was trying to tear something black from his robe. Snape ducked at the spells and petrified them.

Puzzled, he approached the scene carefully. He waved his wand and the small creature unfroze, but didn't move. He picked the cat that attacked his enemies. It was a skinny black cat, the same one he spotted when he sold the potions before. He has seen it following him today, but as it didn't come closer to bother him – he paid it no attention. Snape paused. His fingers came back bloody. The cat must have sustained some damage.

He wasn't surprised by the sudden assault. It was to be expected, he supposed. He betrayed the loyalties of his own house after a decade of fostering the old Slytherin values as a Head of the House. Here he was, a traitor, a spy. The Light side didn't have a use for him, so they tossed him away, but here – he was a stranger back again.

The creature, however, has formed some strange bond with him, it seemed. He was oddly touched. With a final glance to the attackers, he turned and apparated.

 

***

 

Harry opened his eyes and squinted at the bright light. There was a dull ache at the right side of his body and his throat was parched. He groaned internally: it would be such a hassle to go back to Tom and ask for water, specifically. He blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings. The place smelt of dust and old books, but he was not in a library. He rested on a cot, in a cramped kitchen, right beside a window. The sun was shining brightly and he could hear someone going around the house.

Then it came back to him. He went after Snape when he left the bar and two men attacked him. He jumped at the man and used his claws and teeth to show him exactly what he thought of the gesture.

They wrestled and then he felt sharp pain assault him at the side and the world went black.

Harry looked at the wound. He was bandaged with white gauze that smelled sharply of herbs. That was unexpected. He stood on shaky legs and went in direction of the noise. Soon he was faced with someone he least expected to see. Snape.

The man noticed him enter the room. Tall bookcase's lined all the four walls, they reached towards the ceiling. Harry had to crane his neck to look at the books lining the top shelves. There was single faded maroon chair standing on threadbare rug, near a sofa and a table. Snape stood up from it:

\- My, my. Look at our Hero and Savior.

Harry keened loudly. Had Snape recognized him? He approached the man hesitantly and rubbed his good side against his feet.

“If you do not wish to start bleeding again, you might consider resting,” Potions Master waved his wand and levitated Harry back to the kitchen onto the cot.

Snape followed closely behind and after setting the cat back onto its bed, where it curled up tucking his paws underneath him, he busied himself with preparing a meal.

“Don't think you've escaped bathing either, you noisy little creature,” Snape said. “Once the cuts heal over you're getting bathed whether you like it or not. I'm certainly not entertaining you as my house guest while you carry fleas. Come to think of it, there's something you'll no doubt have a use for in a near future,” the older wizard waved his wand and cat's litter appeared in the corner of a room. “As utterly unhygienic this might be, I don't fancy you doing your business anywhere near my books.”

Harry simply looked at the man moving around the kitchen and signed. All things considered, he supposed there were worse places to be, than Severus Snape's house. He doubted the man wished to adopt a cat, but perhaps he could stay here until he was well. He drifted asleep as delicious smells filled the room.

“Here,” Snape placed a bowl of broth, with some meat, in front of Harry.

They ate at companionable silence. Snape at the table and the cat on the floor. Truth be told, the man could probably take care of himself in that alley, Harry thought. It just filled him with so much rage Snape was called and traitor and attacked two on one, in the middle of the day. Of course that was Knockturn and you expected trouble when you went there. Harry still didn't know what business Snape had with the man he met at the bar.

He finished his stew and meowed appreciatively. Snape watched him settle on his small cot again and he had a contemplative faraway look it his eyes.

“It was rather brave, if foolish, of someone your size to protect my honor,” he remarked.

Harry smiled to himself and fell asleep.

The next time he awoke it was morning and he set out to explore the house. Although he still felt the pain, it had lessened. First floor held kitchen, a closed door in one of the corridors that smelled like potions ingredients and a room full of books, which made it a library and living room, he supposed. There was also one closed door he could hear sounds from, but only faintly, almost like the sound was blocked by something. However, he found no stairs to the second floor.

After he had an idea of what this place was, he had nothing else to do so he tried to open up a book to read in Snape's library. He used his paws to open it and it had worked, but when he tried to turn the pages he simply clawed too many. It frustrated him to no end and he wished for a thousandth time for his human form back. Eventually, he gave up and went back to the door he heard feint clatter from. He lay under it and dozed off.

The morning went and Harry woke up from his slumber with a start, when he was shoved roughly be the opening door. He jumped and meowed indignantly. Snape strolled past him, paying him no attention, except for a single look.

Harry was surprised to find out the door led to the basement. The place where Snape brewed his potions, if the faint mint aroma of Healing Balm to be believed. He followed the man after a moment and found him rinsing his hands under the kitchen sink. His hair was gathered at nape of his neck in little ponytail.

The cat watched diligently as Snape heated the remains of the soup and shared it with Harry. The man's movements were precise and he appeared deep in thought. Having finished his lunch, Snape flicked his wand and Harry found half of his body frozen.

“Meoow. Meeoow.”

“Of course, do tell me what you think. I understand every word perfectly,” Snape said his voice thick with sarcasm.

But the cat continued its high pitched meowing, as Snape stooped down in front of the cot.

“No doubt you'll find another way to tell me if this hurts,” the man glared at him.

Harry closed his mouth. A slight chill of fear went through him, as Snape careful hands examined the gauze. A moment later the fabric was lifted and there was a satisfied “hmph” released and he unfroze. The cat craned his neck to look at his side. There were three deep cuts there, with fur shaved around them. They were half healed and looked pretty well. Harry released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

“Good enough to take some water, don't you think?” Snape's hands lifted him from the bed.

Gentle hands carried him to the living room and Harry stared in shock as hidden door behind bookshelves was opened and the man went up the narrow staircase into the second floor. Well, that explained were the Potions Master slept, at least.

The bathroom was nothing like the rest of the house. It looked like the place was new, with even tiles and plumbing. Snape shifted the shower curtain and placed the cat in the bathtub. He turned on the water and rolled up the sleeves of his simple white shirt.

“I've no experience defleaing small animals, but rest assured cat,” Snape looked right in Harry’s the eyes, “If you attempt to resist or claw at me, I will resort to magic and would make it as unpleasant as possible on you.”

“Meooow.”

Out of nowhere the man produced a vial, which he proceeded to rub into Harry's fur, as he got him wet. Harry hadn't had shower in weeks and he paid no attention to grooming himself and finally, finally standing under warm water was a blessing. He was surprised to discover how careful and confident Snape's touch was. His skin smelled of pepper and pleasant musk, so Harry let Snape do as he pleased. Soon he was soaped as Snape's deep baritone voice soothed him:

“That's right. No more flea infested animals in this house. Good boy.”

If Harry's face wasn't hidden under all that fur, he was sure he would be blushing. Instead he found himself starting to purr, something he hadn't experienced before, month in this form. Snape's face was close to his and he had a tranquil, calm quality to it. He wasn't frowning or angry. The lines around his mouth softened. He couldn't be called beautiful, but Harry found something captivating in the lines of the man's face, as he bathed him.

All too soon it was over and Harry found himself dried with a spell. Warm air gusted over his fur until his soft fur was dry and puffy. They made their way to the first floor into the living room and the cat sat at Snape's feet. The man picked up the book to read.

Harry felt wonderful after a bath. He was in a playful mood. He chased around Snape's chair and then tried to play with the man's feet. They didn't smell unpleasantly and were tucked in green slippers.

The cat jumped on the slippers and tried to chew the corners. The man paid no attention to his puerility. Or, so Harry thought, when he noticed Snape watching him from the corner of his eye.

“Continue,” he said, when Harry stopped. “You're not interrupting.”

Snape got his feet out of the sleepers and let the cat claw and bite at him. Harry's instincts took over. He got up and attacked Snape's feet, battling with them playfully. At some point he thought about jumping on the man's lap, but he was worried it was too soon for these kinds of affections to be shared between them. That and his wound still ached and he didn't want to hurt himself by jumping too high.

Snape continued to read his book. When clock chimed six, he got up and made his way to kitchen. They made dinner together. Well, Snape cooked while Harry craned his neck to watch the man. Why was Snape so tall anyway.

When the man retreated to sleep, the cat went after him, but was promptly stopped in front of the hidden door:

“No,” Snape cut off. “Absoutely not,” he pointed at the living room, “This side of the house is yours, however here,” he gestured at the stairs, “I do not wish to be pestered by house pets of any kind.”

“Meow.”

“No. This is not a negotiation, cat. Goodbye.”

The door closed in front of Harry's face. “Git!” he yelled, but there was no one there to hear him. It was not like the cat wished to cuddle with him. Yes, it turned out that it was nice to keep Snape's company. But Harry wasn't going to get clingy, even if he was lonely. He was not a clingy cat. Wait a minute. Snape called him a pet. Did he consider Harry his pet? Did that mean Snape owned The -Boy-Who-Lived? It was probably just a turn of the phrase. He was convinced the man would show him a way out, when his wounds were fully healed.

Come to think of it, it was awfully nice of Snape to look after him. He really didn't have to do it. Of course, Harry knew how capable Snape was of deep loyalty and love, but he never experienced any of it on himself. And now he was taken care of and living with the Potions Master. It seemed Snape had a hidden compassionate side to him, nobody knew about.

After war, with so much loss and grief, Harry found himself fascinated by the enigma by the name of Severus Snape. He couldn't quite reconcile the cold menacing man with a passionate spy, who was willing to play the traitor and a villain. He was universally despised and hated by his colleagues, working to preserve the lives of Hogwarts students, all throughout that last year.

And now Harry lived with him under one roof, getting fed three times a day. He quickly discovered Snape's routine for the day was to brew in the mornings and spend afternoons reading. Sometimes the man went out of the house, but he always came back in a foul mood.

The cat would sit at his feet and play with them, while he would sometimes make scathing remarks about an article in Potions Journals or read aloud a particular book line that caught his attention. Always Harry would respond to him in the same vain, no matter the fact that Snape couldn't understand a word he was saying.

Most of the times when the man chose to speak to him; he would look in his general directions, as if waiting for a reply. He seemed satisfied when the cat would moew back at him and continue speaking to him. Harry didn't know if Potions Master felt lonely, perhaps, or maybe he just found the company of a small pet less taxing, but most of the days he found himself spoken to as if he was a person keeping the man company and he greatly enjoyed it.

“The Wyatt brothers are a plague upon the British Brewer’s Community,” he would say. “Their declaration that Mandrake root could potentially partially substitute the Unicorn horn in potions recipe due to its sedative and pain killing properties is an equally foolish suggestion as an attempt to pay your debt to Gringotts by a Leprechaun gold.”

The cat’s wounds healed completely, but the man was in no hurry to show him the way out. Soon the day came when, as per usual, Harry would accompany professor to the hidden door, that led to the second floor, when Snape snapped:

“Fine, you shameless little menace. Have it your way. However, if you dare to pee on my bed or any such nonsense as that, you'll be banned from this side of the house forever. And there Will. Be. Consequences.”

Harry stared at Snape in confusion when the man turned around and went up the stairs, leaving the hidden door open. No way, he thought. It couldn't be. But there it was, staring at him invitingly. The path to the second floor, open for him to visit as he pleased.

Something softened within him. When it was simply a matter of curiosity for a cat, this gesture meant Snape has invited him somewhere private. It was important to him the man knew he cherished the opportunity and sentiment behind it.

He went up and up, down the corridor until he was in Snape's bedroom. The man appeared to be preparing himself for a bedtime and changing into his nightshirt. Harry froze. He respected Snape's privacy, but his gut stirred. He was used to seeing naked male form in Gryffindor showers, but this was different. For Potions Master was not a boy, but a man.

Unable to look away, Harry observed the pale naked limbs revealed to him. Snape had a thin sinuous body. Long arms and legs, flat stomach, but his abdominal muscles weren't pronounced, as the ones on his arms were. His chest was covered in couple of scars and small brown nipples stood out against the cream complexion.

Soon Snape was covered in a grey, unremarkable garments and settled himself into the bed. He took a book from a nightstand and busied himself reading. Harry stood hesitantly in corner of a small bedroom. He didn't know if he could jump onto the bed, without Snape hexing him six ways to Sunday. Well, he wasn't called reckless and stupid for nothing. He climbed the bed carefully and received a look from Snape. The bed smelled simply wonderful. There was that musky scent, with a dash of lemon and pepper, without the usual acrid smell, that stuck to Snape's robe and followed him everywhere.

Harry climbed the man's stomach and made his bed there. With a noncommittal “Hmph” from Snape he settled himself to sleep. He wanted to be petted but didn't know how to ask. Although Professor wasn't the most affectionate caregiver, usually Harry was fine with bits of play he'd gotten from Snape's feet, when the man settled to read. As of yet, he haven't jumped on Snape's knees when the opportunity presented itself. At first, because he was still sore from the wounds. And then, because he didn't want Snape to feel like he was crowded. He knew the man needed his space.

Still, Harry decided it would be okay to rub his face against his owner's hands. They were still holding a book, but a hand came up and started to sooth up and down his body. Finally. He was being petted. It felt really nice and Harry started to purr.

He was surrounded by Snape's warm scent and he felt content. They went to sleep after a while with Harry settling on the unoccupied pillow. For better or worse, a line has been crossed today and the boy didn't feel like a stranger in this shabby old house anymore.

 

***

 

Snape woke up reeling from a nightmare. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his joints felt sore. Sun was shining and judging by the clock it was midmorning already. In a dream he was followed by his drunk father. He ran from room to room, barricading doors and trying to hide in a closet to escape his parent's wrath. His father wouldn't be deterred by anything, crushing the furniture and yelling his name.

Severus stood up on shaky legs and went to the bathroom. His reflection in mirror repealed red eyes and feverish expression. He scowled at himself. He felt like he was underwater, the silence surrounding him thick and forbidding. His heart was still pounding in his chest, dripping with fear.

Suddenly he heard a metallic scraping sound. A shiver went down his spine and his hair stood up. The sound was coming from the bathroom, the space closed by the shower curtain. He could not breathe. With a shaking hand he took the shaving blade and in one terrible strike sliced through the curtain. He stood frozen and armed, glaring at the bathroom tiles. The space was empty, save for a black cat, playing with a screw. He dropped the blade and slid down the wall, until his bum hit the floor.

He had a cat now. He wasn't alone in the house. He felt foolish. Snape was suddenly glad nobody saw his outburst, or they would think him hysterical. Or worse. A coward. The dream had been real though. He thought about how long the dreams of his father would put him on edge like that. He was almost forty.

The cat jumped out of the bathroom and was staring at him, appearing puzzled.

“I should mince your liver on ingredients after this,” he whispered.

The cat responded as it often did, as if talking to him. He frowned. It was not his intention to adopt a pet, but as the days flew by he let the animal be. Out of convenience, at first. The cat behaved perfectly. It went to the toilet, where it was supposed to. It didn't tear at the furniture, although whatever damage it could do to his shabby sofa could be fixed with a spell. He was an unusually vocal creature, whenever Snape talked to him. And affectionate, he had to admit. It haven't yet made a habit of jumping on his lap, when he was busy, but he found that if the cat would acquire such a habit – he could tolerate it.

He yearned for a dog once. When he was young, four or five, he would feed the strays with the food he saved from dinner. He would reach and pet them, imagining a small happy lump of fur, that someday would grace him with its presence, but it was never destined to be.

He was glad for it. Considering his father’s fits of temper, the animal would sustain a far worse fate than him and mother. And Severus had no desire to see his younger self, learn what it felt like to let down those one has loved, that early.

He watched as the cat approached cautiously and lifted his hand to pet it. He supposed the creature must be named, but the simple cat suited him fine. There was still plenty of brewing that had to be done today, so he washed his face, brushed his teeth and shaved and went to the laboratory.

Snape was just exiting the lab, when he found the owl perched against a window in a staring contest with the cat. He let it in and it dropped a package with a letter on his table. He paused. There was a precious little amount of people that could be mailing him. He took the letter and looked at the ornate handwriting. He recognized it instantly. Minerva.

It turned out the package has been his special flavor tea. Too expensive to buy on what selling potions allowed him to purchase. She knew he's been partial to this brand of tea. He tried not to look at it as charity. Surely, a gift like this could be overlooked as common courtesy. She also wanted to see him soon, to have a tea. He didn't know what they have to talk about, the school and its professor remained... sensitive subject.

He had written to her, accepting the invitation. After all, he had business with her as well. He needed to know if the old cat knew anything about Potter's whereabouts. He was quite sure the boy has gotten himself in some kind of trouble, but there was no way to know anything beyond what the papers told him. He asked Shaw, his old contact, for information about Potter's disappearance, but there seemed to be nothing that could indicate it could be connected to magical criminal world. Whatever leads the Aurors had, if they had any, they kept them to themselves and, considering the boy was still missing, they were not in any hurry to pursue.

That left Hogwarts staff and Minerva, if she knew anything, who could share something useful if he turned the conversation the right way. It was Tuesday and that left a week and half for his Hogwarts visit.

Meanwhile, the Aurors would usually come in to check on him in the middle of each month. As it was the fourteenth, that meant they were due to come in any day now. He should prepare himself for their usual harassment.

The doorbell rang at ten am. He was in the middle of a potion, a simple one, but in need of constant attention. He banished it with a flick of a wand. Nobody visited his house, save Narcissa's visit five years ago before the Ministry assigned a case of Aurors after him, the doorbell hadn't rang in more than a decade. This part of town was abandoned; nobody lived in these old houses anymore. This meant his usual house guests have arrived.

He opened the door and stood aside to let them pass inside.

“Mister Morris, Mister Marsh.”

“Snape.”

“How is the business going for Death Eater scum like you?” asked Mr. Marsh.

Middle aged, he had short brown hair, broad shoulders and a stodgy build. His partner was quite older, his temples gray and Auror robes worn. He looked uncomfortable and sent the second Auror cautionary glare.

“How pleasant it is to reacquaintance with your manners Mister Marsh,” Snape crossed his hands at his chest and schooled his expression to reveal nothing.

“Meow.”

“How sweet, you've gotten a pet,” the Auror spat.

The cat entered the narrow corridor and sat at his master’s feet. It looked around curiously, but didn't try to approach any of the strangers.

“Please do spend some more time on social chatter.”

“Right,” said Morris. “Are you Severus Tobias Snape, are in possession of ingredients prohibited by the Ministry of Magic By the statue four eight one?” older wizard said in a booming voice.

“Not that I am aware of, no.”

“Prove it,” said Marsh.

He took a step forward, right into Snape's personal space and scowled at the man. Then he shoved him roughly. The Potions Master swayed at his feet, but did not otherwise betray any emotion. The second Auror tensed, but said nothing. The cat, however, hissed in warning, tail rigidly up, his fur standing up.

“Mroow,” the cat hissed.

“We'll take a look and decide for ourselves, shall we?” said the shorter man.

Snape's hands made a welcoming gesture, his movement sharp and exaggerated. His irony earned him a dark scowl from the Aurors. Otherwise he made no attempt to stop them as they went into the house, the sound of furniture moving and crashing, emerging from the rest of the house.

The books flew around; when the Aurors went into the kitchen some crockery broke. Eventually both Aurors stood against the door, leading to potions cupboard, where Snape stored his ingredients. It clicked open after a simple Alohamora.

Severus's entire body went rigid as they ransacked his cupboard, galleons worth of potions ingredients flying everywhere.

“You do realize, this is a sole source of my income?”

“You should be grateful this,” Marsh gestured at jar, full of eel eyes, as he dropped it, “isn't done to your face.”

The car paced around agitated, hissing and spitting aggressively any time an Auror came close to Snape, as if protecting its master. Severus longed to pacify the creature in case it got itself hurt, but he wouldn't make such a display in front of Ministry workers.

When they finished their vandalizing, they turned to leave, but not before the shorter Auror once again invaded the Potions Master's personal space. Or, he would if the cat didn't stand in front of him, cautioning him against this gesture.

“Got yourself a bit of a protector, ha, Snape? Couldn't find somebody bigger, huh?”

“These kind of matters are not about size, as hard it is to imagine to person, such as yourself Mister Marsh.”

“Fine,” he said with a leer.

The next moment he kicked the poor creature in the stomach. Snape was startled and by the time he got his wand out and ready, fury coursing through his veins, the men were gone. The cat bounced pretty well, standing up and dashing after the Aurors, instead of running into hiding. He was growling in anger.

Snape went after a cat and summoned it with a spell. He caught the beast in midair and inspected the ribs of a poor fellow. He let out a sigh he was holding. The cat was fine if severely rattled. He didn't quite know how to soothe the creature, so he hugged its body and held it to his chest:

“Silly boy. More guts than brains.”

Anger still bubbled beneath his calm exterior and he scowled at empty walls. He bent to whisper gently to the cat:

“Hush. These poor excuses for human species are gone. And you're not going after them.”

The cat continued its growling, clearly far from a calm lazy attitude he usually sported. But it didn't attempt to claw his eyes out and bite his ears off. He continued to hold the creature as he went through the house charming the broken and displaced books and furniture back to their usual spot. Finally, when he arrived at his cupboard he put the cat down and it went, even if unwillingly, to stand on its four feet. He needed two hands for the spell work that required all of his concentration.

He whispered the words and first in line of ingredients, bone spilled on a floor, began to gather itself back on the shelf. Soon, the castor oil, horse hair, rat tails followed. He spelled even the liquid ingredients back on their shelf, while the cat watched him from the floor.

“I crafted these after the first unfortunate raid by these simpletons. Quite a work. See, it leaves a rather faint magical imprint on the herbs and other such items. As the Ministry has me brewing only the most basic potions that do not require complete magical purity, this shall do, cat.”

He picked the creature up again and spoke to the cat.

“Mister Marsh is quite an interesting case, you see,” he lectured. “His brother was a Hufflepuff, two years beneath Harry Potter. Terribly naive young man, but spirited. Foolish, but some might have mistaken it for bravery. Too many detentions with Carrows landed him in Hospital Wing so often he sustained permanent spell damage,” even the now the memory of bony young child, looking at him with hatred, lying against the white sheets, pale and clearly frightened clenched something painfully in his chest. “He lost control of the left side of his body. Thankfully, only partially. Under my care, no less.”

The cat was calm again. He only let it go to lay it in its cot, so he could prepare them dinner.

“It's not surprising the man harbors a grudge,” he finished.

The cat meowed back. It seemed to agree.

 

***

 

Harry wasn't sure how it happened, but he came to think of Snape as his human. Maybe it was because of the form he occupied and the spell he cast accidentally, but the truth was that he craved the man's presence and affection. He was bored most of the morning because it was Snape's brewing time. Bored, when the man went out for business. He no longer shied away from rubbing at Snape's ankles and jumping on his knees whenever he felt like it. It felt like the dam broke and all of Harry's neediness came pouring out.

He wasn't a terribly affectionate child; certainly, his family never showed him any warmth. Hugs and kisses were for Dudley and Dudley only. What Harry got was poking and occasional slap. While Dursleys were never physically abusive, there was no good feeling lost between them and their nephew, so most of the days Harry had no desire for their affection. Ron and Hermione though were different. Though he never initiated contact, he wasn't averse to it when they hugged him. Ginny enjoyed giving him a pat and leaning into him when they were together and he let her do it. More out of obligation and not out of his own desire.

But he never craved someone else's touch, like he craved his human's comfort. Snape talked to him like he was an intelligent creature. That definitely made things easier for Harry to accept their relationship as they were. He felt like a part of their own little world, as Snape's companion, as silly as it was. He answered back, even if the man couldn't understand a word he was saying.

He would jump on Potion's Master knees and get petted. Closing his eyes and purring to his heart’s content. He would rub his scent all over the man's hands, feet, knees and even jaw, when Snape let him. Claiming him as his owner. He basked in the man’s scent and slept on a pillow next to Snape's face.

The man even would go as far, as charming random objects around the house for him to chase after. God, he loved running after delicious snack. Even though charmed mouse was only a plushy toy, his heart would pound in his ears, his eyes focus on a target as he hunted after it. The thrill of it made him high with adrenalin. It was almost like Quidditch.

For the first time in quite a while he felt content. The man was no longer a stranger to him, as he was privy into his inner life, past all defenses. He saw the man shower, careful not to linger his gaze on Snape's private parts. Saw the man relaxed and absorbed in his reading. Listened to him rant about the topic covered by Potions Journal, not that he understood much.

It felt odd, but the man was a friend, sort of. The fact that nobody else alive could say he knew what Potions Master was like behind closed doors, made he feel special. That, in turn, made him protective of his owner. Almost possessively so.

He poked and prodded Snape when he got back from his business in town, until the man would talk. Snape usually told him where he went and how much he made from the potions he was selling. It wasn't much and Harry knew the man was struggling. Still, he found the means to provide Harry with bits of chicken and meat in his meals.

Harry knew he was fond of tea Mcgonagall gifted him. Knew the man grew scallions in pots in the garden and he liked them on almost every dish he cooked. Knew he paid his water and electricity bills the muggle way. He looked at the man's face, when he just woken up, knew the man's scent when he was angry or sad about something. He knew sometimes Snape would owl someone and then go out of the house just to return surly and on edge.

All of their moments together woven into something tender and fragile in Harry's stomach. When he thought of Snape now, his head filled with scents and the sound of Snape deep voice, and both were honey sweet.

Harry hasn't seen a single visitor, aside from two Aurors. So he was immensely surprised when one afternoon had him and Snape exchange glances, when the doorbell rang. Immediately the man had his want out and ready. He moved into a hallway followed by the cat and opened the door wearily.

There stood Draco Malfoy in his traditional wizarding robes. He smiled upon seeing Severus:

“Hello, sir.”

“Draco,” the wizard nodded. “Very well. Come in.”

Draco and Snape moved past the cat and went into living room. What was little ferret doing here? As far as Harry knew these two had falling out in his six year and weren't especially close since. Maybe he was wrong to assume that. The thought of it was unpleasant to him, though he couldn't say way.

“Sir, it is good to see you,” they exchanged a hand shake.

Harry couldn't remember if Snape ever greeted him with such a friendly gesture. Not that he cared. Much.

“Mother told me about your place. I hope it's not terribly inconvenient for you to have me show up uninvited.”

“It's fine Draco. But I must admit you caught me by surprise. It is most unusual to have someone with your family name venture around in muggle neighborhood, especially such as this. I expect the matter is quite serious. If I may enquire after your parents health?”

“Oh, no sir!” the boy smoothed his eyebrow in a nervous gesture. “It's nothing like that. Truly. You see, we had an exam at the academy today and you, I mean, you helped me through it. The knowledge about the potions required I learned from you, sir.”

“I see,” Snape gestured at the sofa and the guest sat on it, while Snape sat at his favorite armchair.

“We had to observe the symptoms of the patient and diagnose him with a condition. Not an easy task, I tell you, when your examinator is out get you because of,” he paused, “my family name,” for a moment the boy appeared angry.

“It could be anything from Dragon Pox,” he continued, “to simple cold, or it could be a collection of different symptoms all pertaining to two, or three different conditions. You've trained as so well, sir. You've always told us that we, Slytherins, would be treated with a certain attitude, with suspicion and that we must not let it discourage us from trying our best. Keep it simple, you've said. Be as calm and transparent, as the matters at hand will allow you. Always look after your own.”

“You remember,” said Snape, although it couldn't be discerned from his voice what he was feeling.

“Yes, sir. There were so many times I wanted nothing more, but to tell you how you've helped me. And today was just that – the exam I've passed, because of the knowledge you taught me. I knew I had to tell you in person,” the young man grew silent as emotions overwhelmed him.

“Breathe Draco,” Snape put his hand on the man shoulder.

Harry's tail twitched nervously. He suppressed the growing irritation with the Malfoy, but he could do nothing at the little flare of jealousy that ignited in his chest at the sight of Snape touching the brat.

Malfoy was not competing for the man's affection with him, he told himself firmly. Not unless he wanted to be transformed into cat and take Harry's cot.

“Sir, I meant what I said. Your support, even if I didn't appreciate it at the time... I'm thankful for it. More than you know.”

For a moment Snape regarded the man in front of him. His gaze grew intense and he appeared deep in thought at the boy's confession. Harry looked from one Slytherin to another and although Snape's help to Draco, that didn't involve potions, was never mentioned he felt that this was truly the reason for the boy's visit.

“Your gratitude is accepted,” finally said the man.

His words held an air of finality to them. Draco thanked Snape again and was offered tea, to which he declined. The men stood up, to say their goodbyes and that's when Draco noticed the cat:

“You've got a pet!” he exclaimed.

“Obviously,” replied the man a little annoyed.

“I'm sorry sir, it's just… it's most unexpected.”

“I've provided him with shelter and supper for his service.”

“Service?” the boy enquired, but when Snape made noncommittal “hmph” as an answer, he dropped the matter.

“Mother would be thrilled to see you. Please visit us someday soon.”

“I'm afraid I can't make any such promises, yet, Draco. But do tell your mother I've said hello, will you?”

“Of course,” the boy paused.

For a second it looked like he would go for a hug. But he changed his mind at the last minute and extended a hand to his former professor. This resulted in an awkward body language and Harry was suddenly overwhelmed with sympathy towards the boy. Surely it was no small feat to get down here from The Healers Academy just to make some sort of amends with his teacher. Especially when that teacher was Snape.

When Malfoy left Snape decided it was the time for the afternoon tea. He sat there nursing his mug until it got cold, with Harry in his lap. The cat could tell the man was deep in thought. He wasn't frowning or angry, on the contrary, his face was soft and his eyes had an open vulnerable expression to them. He didn't talk. But he didn't have to; Harry could understand him just fine.

Part of him was a little disappointed Draco and not him had caused the expression to appear on the man's face. For the second time today he wondered if the bridges between him and Snape could ever be crossed for some kind of friendship to appear. He was deeply fascinated by the man after the war, but they haven't been exactly close. It appeared Snape was deeply loyal man, the sort of loyalty that made its way into legends and fairytales. He could also love fiercely, passionately and carry that feeling with him through the years, like a man possessed.

Now, Harry wasn't a romantic sort, but he was awed by that power. All of the places inside him, that were empty and hurt because of things he didn't have as a child, even more so the places in him that wished for something true and special were quieted when he got the Hogwarts letter. Well, these places and parts of him were still with him and longed to be loved like that.

Or maybe he was wrong. He certainly wasn't happy to be loved like that by someone like Lockhart. He wouldn't be capable of feeling that strong anyway. But Snape. Snape was different. Tumultuous. Bitter. Angry.

Harry suppressed a shiver. Snape appeared to sense his discontent and places his hand on the cat’s body. Harry meowed appreciatively.

 

***

 

He awoke from the dream from the start. The room was empty, dark and quiet and small black cat was sleeping on the next pillow. His heart hammered in his chest, but it was not from a nightmare. A delicious pull reverberated through all of his body and concentrated in his loins. He dreamed of the boy again. Of the quiet whisper of his voice while he sat at his bedside. His deep dark green gaze. His unruly mop of hair beneath Snape's fingers and sly toothy grin. He tried to calm his thoughts, but his heart was aching in his chest and he wanted nothing more than to surrender to the illusive sensation for a moment.

He cast a cautious glance at the cat. The beast wasn't sleeping anymore. Dammit. Shall he make a spectacle of himself in front of the cat? Snape tossed the duvet and extended a hand to cup his erection. The boy was missing still. He pulled all of his contacts, going as far as meeting with Kingsley and he found nothing. No information on his whereabouts. By the Gods. What happened to the boy was a mystery. The-Boy-Who-Disappeared the papers called him. And here Snape was, dreaming of heady rush he got from catching the scent of a boy, when he was near him. He was truly a man condemned.

The cat was watching him with that unnerving green stare. Snape tucked his cock free of his nightgown pants and gave it jerk. Even if the boy wasn't missing he certainly wouldn't be keeping a company to an Ex-Death Eater. He imagined Potter after Quidditch match, sweaty and short of breath. His cheeks and ears lovely pink, his gaze shining. His hand sped up the motions on his cock. The brat would be grinning from ear to ear, his smile happy. He would be craning his neck trying to look for his friends in a crowd, as Snape saw him do many times. Afterwards he would be sore and aching underneath a shower. Smelling of sweat and youthful hormones, lathering his body with a simple soap. He groaned. The pleasure was building behind his balls as he thought about the boys callused hands traveling up and down his body. He would be sloppy, unerotic, rushing to get the job bone as quickly as possible and join his friends celebrating. The warm water would rush down his body -

“Aah!” shouted the man as milky seed spurted from his prick.

The cat gave a concerned meow. Snape sighed. Well, this was a miserable business, wanking in front of his domestic animal. Surely, this constituted as some kind of perversion. He banished the mess, tucked himself in and threw a look at the cat.

“Not a word.”

But instead of going back to sleep, the cat approached him on the bed keening loudly. He pointed a finger at it and made a no-no gesture. The cat licked his finger and proceeded to rub his face on the man's clothes.

“Marvelous,” Snape snorted. “You're in need of my affections as well?”

The cat bit him slightly and proceeded to lick his hands and clothes, rubbing at him and keening. Snape closed his eyes with a palm. This was dreadful. He shouldn't have done it. The boy was missing. What's gotten into him? If it wasn't for that blasted dream, he wouldn't stoop so low and wank because of the boy who might as well be dead, not to mention make a fool of himself in front of the cat. Now, the animal acted needily and he was at a loss of what to do.

“I don't suppose you require a meal in the middle of the night?” he asked after a while.

The cat simply looked at him and he could've sworn there was a spark of intelligence behind its eyes. Maybe it was a trick of light. He petted the cat to calm the animal and eventually they both got back to sleep. Severus couldn't believe he was reduced to getting his reassurance from small creature, but as it was the warm weight on his stomach helped to ease the ache and despair gripping his heart.

 

***

 

This was pathetic. It hadn't even been two weeks since he last saw Kingsley and there he was at the Ministry again. He even asked after couple Ministry workers he knew had dealings on both sides during a war. All for nothing. Kingsley squinted his eyes at him and told him what he already said before. They have no information about whereabouts of the Boy-Who-Lived.

It seemed nobody knew anything. His mood was rapidly falling. He couldn't show up to McGonagall in a sour mood, too much depended on it. He left the Ministry and apparated to the Northern gates, furthest away from the entry to the castle. He walked the green grounds and admired the scenery. The place had always been a home to him, something Spinners End could not achieve. Not with the history tied up to it. It had been so long since he last saw the castle. Almost three years. The place smelled of sunshine and home.

He entered the castle and went the shortest route to Headmistress's office. He had no desire to reminisce on often painful memories of his final year. Spent lonely and drinking, tense and always hated. Hated from every corner.

The gargoyle accepted his password. “Ex nihilo nihil fit ” nothing comes from nothing. The days of favorite candy choices of the week were gone. He used simple latin phrases too. Catchphrases every Slytherin knew by heart, so that the Carrows could come fetch him any hour of the day. He made himself available. Which was not his usual habit at all. But the matters often required his oversight. If he hadn't been there, the damage the Death Eaters could do to the students would be unthinkable. He took a steadying breath and stepped knocked on the door.

“Come in! Ah, Severus, it's so good to finally see you,” she extended her hand.

“Heamistress,” he bowed his head and completed her handshake. “I'm quite fond of meeting you again, as well.”

They've settled in for tea – his favorite, he noticed. Headmistress has always been very thoughtful.

“How are your potions going?”

“They don't make much money, but it's enough to get by, Minerva.”

“I know it must be utterly inconvenient for you to brew only what every third year brews, Severus,”she knitted her brows. “I told Kingsley he shouldn't have imposed those laws on you. A war hero!”

“The Ministry needed to reassure its citizens I pose no threat to anyone.”

“It doesn’t make that right. Three years after that law was passed, we have a different government now. I'll do whatever I can to bring up the matter with the new Minister.”

“I see. You've gotten it in your head you must save me and I suppose I have no say in the matter at hand,” the man said rather annoyed.

“Now, shush, boy. Don't be difficult.”

“Then, tell me how it is your business is doing these days. All is well I suppose?”

“Hogwarts never had a better Potions Master than you Severus – don't scowl at me! You know it's true. And these are very trying times for your Slytherins, but they're doing well.”

“Well enough with other houses shunning them,” snickered the man.

McGonagall gave him a strict look.

“How are your lions, then? Obnoxious as always?”

“Gryffindor is faring very well, indeed. Although, there some concerning matter about those who have graduated. You've heard of Harry Potter disappearance, haven't you?”

“Yes, the brat ran off from his own wedding. Was the bride that terrifying?”

“Severus! That's not what happened there at all. You would know if you were present and haven't declined the invitation. I know you've been invited, don't even lie to me, Harry told me he would be honored to have you as a guest.”

“I've been busy. Pray tell, what truly happened with Potter?”

“It's as papers wrote it, I'm afraid. One moment he was there and the next – poof!” she waved her hand, “He's gone.”

“Doubt that's all of it.”

“Well, doubt as you wish, but if there's anything else to the matter – I know nothing of it. We're all very concerned for Harry, whenever he might be; I wish that he knew he could come back any moment. Nobody would think less of him if he couldn't go through with it. Sometimes I think there's been too much pressure on him to be the hero everyone imagined him to be, Severus. Everyone wanted the Savior even, if you don't mind me saying, his close friends... And he's just a boy who has a knack for getting into trouble.”

“Do you think that's what this is then? He's gotten into trouble?” the man made an effort to make his voice even.

“I don't know. Certainly, if he was in trouble there would be signs, don't you think? But there's nothing. It's as if he doesn't want to be found. I know that Granger and Weasley are searching for him among the muggles now, because they've looked everywhere else.”

“I see.”

“Well, you've always looked out for him,” she looked at him with great deal of warmth in her eyes. “And I'm not fooled by your indifference in the least. In past – yes, I might have been. But you've proven yourself to be beyond simple grudges, Severus.”

“I have absolutely no clue what you're talking about, Headmistress.”

“As a friend, I know you're not the sort to go looking for help, so let me tell you this, although I know you won't listen: write to me, if shall be in need of anything. Money, potions, influence. Promise me you'll consider it.”

Severus was at a loss of words. So far this plea came from what he and McGonagall shared in his year as Headmaster. She loathed him passionately and he feigned nonchalance at her dissent. The rest of staff was no better. But she was the bravest, and boldest of opponents. A true Gryffindor.

“I'll consider it,” he said, even though he had not meant it.

“Very well...” she finished and dug her head into documents in front of her.

Taking his cue to leave, he stood up, when she looked at him hesitantly and asked with utmost curiosity:

“If I may enquire Severus... have you gotten yourself cat?”

 

***

 

He returned later than usual, but with a treat for the animal. A muggle packet of meat for cats. The creature greeted him, as if he hadn't seen him in years. Silly cat. The conversation with Headmistress opened another possibility – the one he refused to consider. The turn of events where Potter might have decided to abandon Magical Britain altogether. He knew that was impossible. Sure, the expectations placed on him were high, but the boy was impervious to opinion of the masses.

Severus watched him through the course of second year, when the gossip placed Potter as Heir of Slytherin and the boy hadn't crumbled. He had been only twelve at a time. Throughout the years and different Skeeter articles Potter persisted, sure of who he was and what was important to him. His ego was beyond reproach. Universal judgment hadn't fazed him.

Unless. He was truly guilty of something or thought himself to be. Had the boy really run away just to escape the bloody wedding? Was that possible? But what would propel him to do so? His bride was clever, beautiful and as Snape grudgingly had to admit – capable witch. Surely that was enough to sway any straight man.

He lost count of the times he sat there wondering what drove the Boy-Who-Lived. He knew he liked attention – perhaps not as a celebrity, but he certainly enjoyed his Quidditch fame while it lasted. He knew the boy only listened to his friends, the one's closest to him. He was a foolish Gryffindor, down the last bone, jumping at the chance protect the rest of the bloody world at the first sign of trouble. His noble heart wouldn't let him leave the Weasley chit at the altar. Not willingly.

Perhaps something extraordinary happened. Magic had mysterious way about it; it could read our deepest desires and wishes and act as a force in its own right. Whatever it was, the boy would surely get into trouble. That was his nature. With these thoughts in mind, Severus went on to prepare dinner.

Harry was happy however. His owner was home and even though he was in a foul mood, as the case often was for the times when he went out of the house, the cat felt pretty content to just rub at Snape's ankles and bask in his scent. The life of a cat would be boring to a human, but he wasn't human anymore. Harry found himself happily lazing around most of morning, lying under the patch of the sun in the kitchen.

He felt warm and his thoughts crawled like little snails, quietly and steadily. He wondered what Snape thought of him as his owner and whether he would leave him to live in this house. He wondered how long he would be trapped in this form, if maybe, it would be years until the spell would wear off. The thought should have disturbed him more than it did. He wondered what kind of memories disturbed Snape's sleep and what hidden desires plagued him at night. What fears caused him rip the shower curtain to shreds and if Harry himself had anything to do with them.

The house was shabby and small, but it was almost a palace to someone of Harry's size. And Snape was a giant. With lovely, tender fingers, that dug in his fur and stroked him, until he was purring. With bony thighs and knees the cat would lay on when they both felt like it. With a deep smoky voice that intoned hundreds of meanings onto same simple words.

He looked at his owner. He still didn't have name though. That was the moment when the kitchen started to reek of burned food and Snape cursed under his breath. The cat frowned. Snape threw the pan into sink and exclaimed in rage:

“Where the hell are you!”

The man sat in the chair and put his face in his hands. The next moment Harry was over Snape's knees meowing softly. He licked at Snape's jaw, but it seemed like the man was too immersed in his own thoughts to notice him. The can wondered who his human was searching, but was at a loss to how to communicate his worry. He settled for sitting on Snape's body lap and waited until the man would come to his senses.

Eventually, Snape stopped sulking and fetched the burned dinner. The corners of his lips were turned down and it seemed like he was still angry, but his hands were soft and careful when he touched Harry.

 

***

 

The bell rang while Snape was in the laboratory. Harry couldn't figure out who needed the Potions Master, if it wasn't Draco coming back, of course. When the man hadn't emerged from the basement, Harry thought the persistent knock on the door would stop and whoever it was would take the clue and go away. They did not. Snape walked out of the lab annoyed and almost stepped on him on the way to the door. Thankfully Harry was able to slip past the man's boots at the last minute. He could only imagine how angry the man would be if he fell because of his cat. Yikes.

Snape opened the door and froze on his step:

“Mister Weasley, Miss Granger.”

“Hullo, sir,” greeted two voices.

“May we come in?” and that was Hermione's voice Harry recognized.

What were his friends doing here? Did they know that Harry was here? This was the opportunity he had waited; he could try to make them pay attention to the cat. But he doubted they would know it's him, however. Besides he was curious why his friends were here in the first place.

He watched Ron and Hermione sit on the same shabby sofa, that Draco occupied with Snape in his favorite armchair beside it.

“Well?” the man asked.

The young people exchanged glances.

“It's about Harry, sir,” Hermione confessed. “We were wondering if you knew anything about his whereabouts.”

“I have no clue why you've imagined I might have any idea about where your dunderhead friend is.”

“We're desperate to find him, sir. It's been more than two months and we're still at a loss why he disappeared,” said the girl.

“Mom's got sick. She's terribly worried about Ginny and Harry...” Ron suddenly trailed off. “And the rumors...”

That peaked Snape's interest:

“What rumors Mister Weasley?”

Both of his friends grew silent and Hermione took Ron's hand into her own.

“People talk, you know... They say that Harry had run from Ginny and we're covering it up because we don't want anybody to find out.”

“Ah, I see,” Snape interlaced his fingers together in a lock and covered his knee.

“We've seen almost everyone who could know anything about Harry,” said Hermione.

“But not the Death....,” Ron chocked as Hermione elbowed him. “I mean, not the Slytherins.”

“You came here to gather information on Potter through your fellow,” Snape paused, “...Slytherin.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“We'll connect with Malfoys and other families directly,” Hermione answered firmly.

“Might as well save you the trouble, Miss Granger. The fact is I've been in contact with most of the Slytherin families recently and aside from the most relevant comments on the choice of the bride, timing of the wedding and location – they know no more than you and me.”

“But they could have lied to you, professor, you've betrayed You-Know-Who…”

“Very perceptive Mister Weasley,” the man said with a quirk of his eyebrow, “But then the question is why would you try to gain any useful information through a host, that revealed himself as a spy and might not have the trust of the fellow Slytherin housemates.”

“You're our best chance still,” sighed Hermione.

She looked sad. They both did. Harry was overcome with guilt. His friends have been looking for him and what was he doing? Lazing around under the sun all day and feigning a good pet to Snape. Some friend he was. And if Molly was sick because of him...

“Alas, I have nothing new for you. Perhaps it is best to bide your time and wait for Potter to come back on his own terms.”

“Are you trying to tell us...?” Hermione said.

“He wouldn't have left like that,” interrupted Ron, “Not Harry.”

“Maybe not voluntarily Mister Weasley. We, after all, live in magical world. Brimming with forces ancient and unexplained.”

“Thank you for help, professor,” the girl said as Ron snickered. “We'll better go.”

Snape lead the guests to the door and gave them farewell. Harry sat quietly in the living room, lost in his own thoughts. Come to think of it, when was the last time he tried to turn back? Surely he tried to make himself human again since he moved in with Snape? But as hard as Harry tried to remember he couldn't think of such time. Bugger.

He couldn't transform right in front of the Snape, he figured. So he needed to wait for the night, when the man went to sleep and Harry could do whatever he wanted. But what if Snape woke up, when he left the pillow beside him? It would be strange to try to sleep anywhere else and the man might suspect something. No, he would just have to be extra careful.

Something else lifted in his memory. Snape has been in contact with rest of the Slytherin families? But he hardly ever got letters. Yes, he went out of the house sometimes and returned upset, but why would he visit Notts and Malfoys? Maybe he wanted something from them? Something he also wanted from that man in Knockturn Alley, Shaw has been his name.

Harry faltered. Snape was looking for someone. Could it be Snape was looking for him? For Harry? No, but that would be impossible. He had to admit though, the man always looked out for him and tried to protect him. Why would this be different?

It seemed like everybody was looking for him. They were worried about him. Only he was lost in his new life as a pet, content to run away from the everyday troubles and his disaster of a wedding. The sour taste of guilt filled his mouth. He needed to explain himself to his friends. To Ginny. Not to mention to ease the mind of the entire Weasley family.

Determined to succeed he ran to his cot and prepared to wait for the night.

 

***

 

He waited until Snape's breath got even and his body was peaceful. After, he carefully got up on all fours and jumped from the bed. He froze, waiting for any sign that the man woken up, but all was silent. He made his way downstairs through the open hidden door into the living room and looked around. It was a quiet night. He never been out when it was nighttime, his sleeping hours corresponding with his owner. Although, he should stop calling Snape that. Even in his mind.

The shadows lurked in every corner and the house looked even lonelier than it did when sun was out. Harry paused in the middle of room careful to get some space between him and the furniture, lest he transform underneath the table and hit his head, turn the table and wake up the Potion's Master.

Slowly, he concentrated on his breathing and felt the magic that always surrounded him run deep in his veins. The way he always knew it was there since he first held a wand. He closed his eyes and imagined himself as he was as a cat, small and black and envisioned himself turning back into human, limbs longer, the fur disappearing. For a moment nothing happened. Then his limbs started moving and his breath got fuller and longer, because of expanding ribs.

He opened his eyes and there he was, crouching on a floor in his formal robes, adorned with tiny little golden lions. He did it. He was finally back as a human. He stood up and looked at the narrow staircase. He couldn't help but want a last look at his human. Though he shouldn't call him that now. But he couldn't risk waking the man up if he made some noise. And Snape was a delicate sleeper.

He paused. He should probably stage an escape for the cat. Snape would wake up and find that the cat was missing and that wouldn't do. If he opened a window the man would think he simply ran away and he wouldn't get suspicious. Much.

His heart ached in his chest at the thought of Snape worrying about his little pet. He couldn't know for sure, but he felt that the man became quite fond of him. And now Harry was disappearing again with no explanation. It was becoming a habit.

But he needed to go back to his friends. He felt too guilty to stay and it wouldn't be right anyway. Even as confused about his feelings toward Snape as he was, he knew it would be wrong of him to stay. He would leave his friends and fiancé to worry, at the mercy of vile rumors and he simply couldn't do that. He couldn't.

His body felt weird and different. He wasn't used to being so tall anymore, high off the ground. The house felt smaller and he lost his keen sense of smell. He staged an escape, opening the window in the kitchen. Then he opened the front door with Alohamora. Stepped out of the house and closed the door. He was going back.

 

***

 

Severus awoke yearly morning from a disturbing dream. It had long dark corridors and labyrinth and he had just found a way out, when his eyes opened. The cat wasn't lying on a pillow next to his, but he was confident the beast was lurking somewhere in the house.

He got up and performed all the morning cleansing rituals, changed his clothes and went downstairs. The birds were already chirping loudly and the sun was out. The days were growing shorter, the summer was ending. It was surprisingly chilly in the house, the suffocating warmth of the summer retreating to make way for the fall.

He made his way into the garden and took three scallions for a breakfast, careful not to let the cat out, but the creature was nowhere to be seen. He cooked some of the remaining sausage with his eggs for the cat and put it in the cat's bowl. He was about to start on eggs, when he noticed the open kitchen window.

An unpleasant thought had crossed his mind and he called for the cat. Nothing. Not a sound from the usually so loud animal. He left his eggs to sit on the table and went to look for the cat. He didn't find it in the living room, bending to look under the sofa, it was nowhere to be found on the first floor. He went to the second floor and checked the bathroom, the bedroom and the space under the bed.

He was growing anxious. Yes, the cat was a stray animal and probably knew how to feed itself on the streets if it indeed ran away. But he was worried about the animal nonetheless. He should probably leave the window open and wait until it showed up again, but he had another idea.

Snape went downstairs again to finish his breakfast. The eggs tasted like ash in his mouth, he was so worried about his pet. How silly. To become attached to a free animal in mere weeks of cohabitation. Still, as he knew how foolish it was to go looking for the cat, his heart was determined it was the only possible solution. He couldn't possibly brew, when he didn't know what had happened to the animal.

More so, the cat wouldn't have gone far and the tracking spell he had placed on it would make the job easy enough. He finished his breakfast and performed the calling spell. It appearred as golden light, the thread leading him out of the kitchen into the corridor and out the main door. How odd.

He stared at the door puzzled, his intuition telling him something was amiss there. He went out of the door into the chilly morning air. The yellow thread lead him ten steps most out of the house and ended there. An abrupt ending usually a sign of apparition.

Has someone taken the cat? Has someone decided to play a joke on retired teacher, or ex-Death Eather and kidnapped his cat? It was unimaginable what would they do to the creature, all because of their hatred to him.

By the Gods, he knew he shouldn't have let the animal stay. Worry and guilt gnawed at him, as he followed the thread of tracking spell into the shaky swirl of apparition. It landed him in a field of grass amidst steep hills. The light of the spell was glowing brightly and he strode towards it, his worry merging in rage at those who decided they could play with him.

He has been walking for half an hour when familiar sights greeted him. No, it couldn’t be, he told himself. A Burrow stood out from afar, the thread of the spell leading there in smooth lines. Bad feeling crept in his stomach. He doubted the Weasley boy paid a visit to him in the middle of the night, creeping under his Defense Wards, as weak as they may be. All to steal his cat, whom he paid no attention to, while he was there the day before.

Come to think of it, the cat was unusually quiet after their visit. The cat he found in the Knockturn Alley, a month after certain celebrity disappeared. A foolishly brave beast, intent to be his savior. The one who defended him against two idiots in the alley and the Aurors.

Quiet fury as strong as deep relief started to seep into Snape's veins. He knew why the thread of the tracking spell lead him here. He felt exposed, stripped of his defenses and secrets. Yet he couldn't help but feel overjoyed at the fact he finally knew where the boy has been. He knew the lying brat was safe.

 

***

 

All the week the Prophet was rife with speculation about Potter's sudden re-emergence in the Wizarding World. Snape had paid no attention to it, knowing the reason Potter came back was Molly Weasley's poor health. How the boy ended up as cat living in Diagon Alley was still a mystery to him, but he doubted the transformation has been voluntary.

Today's Prophet however had the picture of Ginny Weasley and Potter in their wedding robes, with a broken line separating the two, large print stating “The Potter-Weasley wedding canceled!”. That got his attention. He snorted. He doubted the separation would last. The boy was too eager to make a family out of Weasleys.

But the tight curl of rage at the boy's deception eased. He knew he shouldn't have trusted the creature right away. Experience had taught him to expect the danger, to not trust the looks and dig for malice underneath any exterior. Even as fluffy as a simple cat. Especially given that a certain rat lived in his house not so long ago. Yet he didn't check the cat for any sign of transfiguration spell or for an animagi wizard underneath. He was touched at the beast trying to protect him. Being a lonely man had its disadvantages. Longing for a company a pet could provide was one of his weaknesses, Snape discovered.

He traced the outline of the broken line, between the couple's photograph in the paper. As if, he thought to himself. As if it would matter if the boy was now single and free. It would make no difference to you, Severus, you fool.

The sudden loud knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. He went to the door and opened it expecting anyone, but not his visitor.

“Potter!” he barked, the cold fury reigniting in his chest.

“Hi,” the boy smiled shyly at him.

Snape dragged the boy inside, by his forearm. He closed the door with a kick of his leg and slammed the boy against the wall.

“You think you can make a fool out of me?” he snarled in the boy's face.

Harry winced. Snape was pressing him against a wall, his brows down together, eyes dark with anger. It was so different to have him here, up close and pressed against his body, when he was a human instead of a cat. There was no thick layer of fur separating them. His skin could feel the texture of the man's robes, his warmth. This close he could smell the acrid smell of the fabric and warm intoxicating fragrance of Snape's skin.

Heat pooled between his thighs, but he was determined not to pay attention to the way his body was reacting to the man. Slowly he took a breath and made himself look into the dark fiery depths of Snape's eyes.

“Y.. you know,” he stammered.

“Yes, Mister Potter, I'm aware of your little ruse.”

“It wasn't a ruse, I couldn't tell you it had been me because I couldn't transform back into a human,” the words came out in a rush and he hoped the man would believe him.

“And you expect me to believe that all this time you couldn't transform back, but suddenly when your little friends show up to – you find it in yourself to go back to the famous Harry Potter everyone loves and adores?”

“Look, I didn't try to turn back when I was here,” Snape snorted. “Listen, please. At first I was too sick, but then I got too content to change anything. That was the first time I tried transforming in weeks and I didn't know it would work, I had to go, don't you see,” Harry begged, coming closer to man, when Snape stepped away from him, “They were looking for me, they were worried...”

Harry noticed Snape's feet were bare. Something softened in him at the sight.

“And how exactly you came about as a cat Mister Potter?” said the man, his face impassive now and his hands crossed on his chest.

“That's a funny story. I don't know exactly how it happened,” the man lifted a brow, “I don't! Look, I was really worried about the wedding and I guess I was too nervous and my magic reacted to my feelings. One moment I was human and the next – poof! - I was a cat!”

“Before I knew it a girl picked me up and I was at Diagon Alley and the only familiar face I would see was you. And then you got attacked, and…”

“You got yourself injured, yes, I remember the rest.”

“Do you believe me then?” he asked hopefully. “I wasn't trying to trick you.”

“Truth be told, I liked being your cat,” he added quietly.

For a moment something shone in the man's black eyes. But it was gone so quickly, Harry wasn't sure it wasn't just a trick of light.

“You've explained yourself. No go,” answered the man.

He turned away and opened the door. Harry went.

 

***

 

Wednesday went as usual and Thursday passed in a haze of potions making. But on Friday Severus found himself with fix whether to open the door to the insistent knocking or ignore the visitor. He decided to help himself towards some tea and refused to let the boy in. However, when the knocking had stopped he flung the door open to check if the boy was still there and found only lonely box of his favorite tea resting on the doorstep.

So the boy brought a gift. He couldn't figure out why the brat kept coming back, when he had already explained himself. The boy took something from him, even though it was unintentional; he robbed Severus of his domestic animal. And Severus already figured out he grew fond of the cat. It was also clear that he was still angry about being fooled into thinking his pet was nothing more than a simple cat, when the Savior of the Wizarding World lived by his side privy to all of his secrets.

Although it took all of his restraint not to let the boy in, he felt that he was doing the brat a favor. Nothing good could come out of their alliance and Potter had no idea of the true nature of desires that plagued Snape. He probably wanted to be “friends” or other such nonsense, no doubt drawn to the companionship they shared when he was a cat.

Well, he couldn't have it. Their relationship would be a disaster. He would be always on verge of losing himself, crossing a line he shouldn't even think about. The brat looked wonderful when he came to him the last time. And it has been so long since Severus saw him last. His green eyes shone just as brightly as he remembered. He was paler than usual; no doubt the consequence of spending the last two month with a think mane. He was nervous, but the shy smile he greeted him with made something painful clench in the pit of his stomach. Ever the fool, Severus.

No doubt the boy thought he could crawl through any wall Severus decided to erect between them. He just had to make sure to keep the boy out and show him that wasn't the case.

On Monday the visiting has continued and this time Harry left a new magical shower curtain on his doorstep. It had dark green waves painted on it, with pastel teal foam on a white background. The package said the curtain repelled water and would protect anyone taking the shower against falling. Severus hanged it in a bathroom, tossing the old shredded fabric in the trash.

It made him think of all the things the boy remembered him doing as a cat. Draco's visit no doubt and the harassing Aurors, one of which had kicked the brat in the stomach. He wondered what Potter thought about that particular incident and if the boy felt repelled by the profession now, or if he didn't hold the Aurors behavior against them. He was sure the great noble hero inside that lithe small body would be horrified by his treatment. He was distressed enough during their visit.

Of course there was a matter of his short lapse in judgment. Wanking in the middle of the night in front of a cat. The creature saw him taking a piss and occasionally was present when he took a shower, but he never attempted to satisfy his urges in front of the cat. That was crossing the line. How dreadful.

He felt vulnerable and exposed. He always had very strict notions about privacy, but Potter's interference made him feel like he was living in a glass house. The boy saw everything, everything. He shared his pitiful rations, the boring empty routine of Severus's life held no secrets to him. However charmed the boy was by his memories after the war, surely now it was clear he was nothing more than lonely bitter recluse. Worse than that, he didn't strictly hate his life. Sure the potions he brewed were repetitive menial work, but he held out a hope for laws to change. Most importantly he was a free man, free of both of his Masters and more times than he could count, he found himself grateful.

He was preparing for midnight stroll through a forbidden forest, when familiar knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It was a middle of the night, had Potter lost his mind, showing himself at his door in these hours? He opened the door, large weaved basket by his side:

“Really, Potter? You've decided to grace me with your presence at this hour?”

“You've opened the door,” said the boy awestruck.

“Not for your benefit, however,” answered the man as he stepped on a porch and closed the door behind himself.

“Sorry I'm late. I've been so busy, wait, are you going somewhere?”

“As it happens, I am, yes,” said the man his cool baritone grazing the air.

“I'm coming with you! I've always wanted you to take me, when you went out after potions ingredients.”

“You incredible dolt, you want to go picking flowers in the middle of the night? You'll be bored out of your mind,” sneered Snape.

“Whatever,” Harry hooked his arm around the Potion's master arm, “I'm coming.”

For a hot second the boy thought Snape would curse him and send him flying off the porch, but then he grunted to himself and flicked his wand. The familiar sick tug of apparition jerked Harry's stomach. They landed at the school gates and Harry looked at the familiar castle. The view made him breathless, hundreds of windows glowed with warm yellow light and the castle walls were illuminated by a half fool moon.

Snape whispered something and the gates screeched open.

“After you, Mister Potter.”

Harry nodded his thanks in official manner, the corners of his lips turned up as he crossed the gate. They went through the unfamiliar trail that led them right to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Harry was struggling to keep up with Snape's long strides. The man walked with a purpose, his light black cloak billowing behind him. Once or twice the younger man thought about trying to sneak a hand around Snape's arm, but he decided against it.

The man stopped right at the edge of the forest and looked intently at his face.

“Here we part, as I imagine, you would be happy to wait for me in your friend’s cabin,” Snape nodded in direction of Hagrid's hut.

“No. I've told you, I'm coming with you,” insisted Harry.

“Whatever for, Mister Potter? You forget, I know your restless nature all too well, you'll find the task at hand to provide you with little to no stimulation.”

“Please, I'll just hang around with you – I won't be a bother,” Harry said. “Sir,” he added for a good measure.

“Very well, but once you are bored, don't start wandering off after some adventure,” Snape's eyebrows shot up, “I'm warning you Potter.”

“Yes, alright, alright.”

Half an hour later Harry was bored out of his mind. The moon glimmered mysteriously through the leaves and branches, as they walked deeper in the forest. Occasionally Snape would bend to the earth with silver knife and shear the undergrowth behind some bush or a tree.

Harry walked close behind him, trying to come up with some topic for conversation. He was sure the man patience was stretched thin having brought him along the way. Well. He could always enjoy the man's presence at his side. Even if that meant enjoying silence. He was going to ask for a knife to help Snape collect the ingredients, when he caught glimmer of something white behind the trees.

He could be wrong, but that looked like a unicorn! His feet carried him along another path through the trees. After a while he came up to the clearing in the trees, where indeed a white unicorn was resting on soft grass, amidst a field of blue flowers.

The view alone took Harry's breath away. He moved closer to the animal and watched as the unicorn's horn twitched nervously. He was suddenly struck by an idea. Of course he didn't know if it would work, but he was driven by the sense of adventure and strange connection to the creature in front of him. He took a measured breath and imagined his limbs getting shorter, growing a pair of whiskers and a tails. He opened his eyes.

He no longer overlooked the clearing and the flower field from above. His height was short enough to see the grass and he no longer saw a unicorn. Bur he could smell him. The thick aroma of horse manure and pine trees, interlaced gently with the sweet flower smell.

His eyes saw better in the dark than before and he went forward in the direction of the new intriguing scent. Couple of steps took him right under the unicorn's nose. He froze in wonder. The pale skin of the beast shone brightly under the moonlight as did his iridescent horn.

Harry found himself being sniffed at, while his nose explored the unicorn's thick warm scent. Simply amazing. The young man's heart gushed with pleasure as rubbed his muzzle along the unicorn's face. The animal's eyes held an amused sparkle.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here,” intoned an unpleasant deep voice.

Harry's ears twitched and he turned. Snape stood at the edge of the clearing with a large basket and a very annoyed expression on his face.

“Do not wonder off after some adventure, I told him, did I not? But did the wondrous Savior of Wizarding World listen to the my plea? No,” the man's laughed harshly. “Of course who am I to listen to my word, when something reckless comes into that idiot head of yours?”

It took practically no effort – which meant he was getting a hang of this, to turn back into the human and a moment later Harry was apologizing to the man.

Blood drained from Snape's face, when he saw him transform. His hand dropped the basket.

“Careful, Potter!” he yelled and jumped after him.

Harry blanched; distantly he heard the unicorn neigh. It was a loud agitated noise. He turned and the unicorn stood on his back hoofs, his front legs kicking the air. A sudden jerk downward saved him from being crushed by the animal.

“Bloody fuck,” Harry breathed.

He was lying on top of Snape, the man's hands around his torso. The man had saved his life. The unicorns didn't let the men or boys come too close to them, only younger golden foals allowed this. He was too distracted by the man to pay attention to his surroundings.

“Are you alright?” the Potions Master's hands were wandering around his body checking for damage and Harry was sure he was blushing.

One hand found its way into Harry's hair as Snape was trying to feel his way around the young man's head.

“Mmm… Feels nice. Bit of like when you used to pet me.”

The hand brushed his hair again. Harry let out a small content sigh.

Severus was holding the boy close, his head was nestled under his chin and he could smell the boy's shampoo and underneath it the boy's sweat. They were lying on the flowery field and neither of them made an effort to get up.

“Foolish boy, you could have gotten hurt.”

“Wasn't thinking, sorry. Didn't mean to wander off either.”

Snape snorted, but his hand continued petting the boy's hair.

Harry felt peculiar. The warm body beneath his back was bony, but he wasn't uncomfortable. He felt close to the man. Their legs lay there intertwined. It felt almost intimate to be lying with Snape like this. But his stomach was a bundle of nerves. He felt calm, yet there was a yearning in him. A deep ache that was fueled by Snape's touch. He was so close, but he wanted to be even closer. He felt connected to the man and even though he tried to pretend he didn't know what this attraction meant, deep down he knew he was down this road for quite some time.

Eventually, Harry gathered enough courage to try and turn.

“Wait,” he said rearranging their limbs.

Soon he was lying on top of Snape, his palms leaning on the earth on the sides of the man's body. Cool black eyes gazed at him, but they weren't unkind. In the dark the lines of Snape's face seemed softer and more forgiving to his complexion. Quite suddenly Harry found himself transfixed by its features, his mouth dry and his heart pounding.

Severus was aware of how liquid head was spreading all throughout his blood at the sight of the young man. A dark fire was igniting in the pit of his stomach and the boy would sure feel its effects now, if he didn't stop them now, until it was too late. Still, he couldn't contain himself against bringing a hand to touch the boy's cheek.

Harry leaned in to the touch. Rubbing his face against Severus's palm, much like he would do as a cat. His eyes glittered in the dark and the sounds of the night forest surrounded them with a pleasant hum.

“It's finished.”

“What?” Harry blinked owlishly.

“I've finished collecting the ingredients. We may go now.”

“Right!” the boy gasped. “I'm just gonna get up now, um,” he sat up and straddled the man's hips.

Before the young man realized the ambiguity of their position, Snape grasped his wrist and whispered firmly “Up!”.

“Yes, of course,” Harry stumbled to his feet and Snape followed.

The rest of the way passed in a charged silence. They both tried to avoid looking at each other. The weather changed, thick clouds closing the half moon and the sky, plunging them into darkness. Snape was happy Harry couldn’t see his face. He was sure if the boy was to see the longing written in its features all would be lost. But the blessed silence and darkness hummed with nervous energy and he couldn’t help but be especially aware of the other body walking beside him with every movement of the air.

They got to the house without a trouble. And Snape half expected to close the door in Harry's face, but when he looked at the shy smile illuminated by the corridor lamp, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“These herbs have to be used fresh.”

“I'll prepare some tea then. I know where everything is.”

“Very well,” the man took the basket with him to the basement.

He was carefully preparing the herbs and chopping what needed to be chopped when Harry came down with a tray of tea floating in front of him. He settled it on the wooden table and smiled, when Snape took a cup.

“I've seen you can transform into the cat willingly now,” he said.

“Yes! I didn't expect I could. It just seemed like a thing to do, you know, at the moment.”

“It seems you're special enough to become an animagus by a case of accidental magic. It's very uncommon, but it does happen,” the man's eyes looked him up and down. “Of course most of the magic and training to become an animagus goes to uniting with your animal self, becoming one with your true animal nature, hidden beneath civil exterior. But of course, the Boy-Who-Lived is special enough to forego the basic training.”

“What color are the eyes I have?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, while I'm a cat. I mean, I haven't looked in a mirror and I know I'm a black cat, but.”

“Green,” said Snape and his voice could be described as fond, “Most uncommon, not that I'm an expert in feline biology.”

“Oh! Figures!”

“And you have a white spot in a place of your scar.”

“I do? Wicked!” Harry smiled. “Speaking of me as a cat, or a time I was a cat... I saw quite a lot in this house you probably think I shouldn't.”

“Yes, I imagine you did,” the man said calmly, his hands leaving the cup and once more returning to preparing the ingredients.

“There's something I want to talk about,” Harry braced himself. “Marsh. And the other Auror, what his name?”

“Morris,” Snape answered, but his shoulders got rigid when Harry mentioned the Aurors.

“Well, they had no right to treat you like a criminal,” young man said passionately. “You should tell Kingsley.”

“I would do not such thing, Mister Potter. You could at least try to be polite and try not to meddle in my affairs.”

“Polite!” he exclaimed.

“You, of course, assume I need saving,” he sneered. “And who else better fit the role as Boy-Who-Lived himself. But I assure you I do not. Furthermore, I would appreciate it if you didn't mention what you've seen here, as my cat, seeing that you tricked me…”

“Tricked!” the boy cried.

“Into sharing the level of trust you and I do not possess.”

“But these men…”

“Enough!” Snape roared and his hand came down onto the table with a thud.

“Right, sorry I…” but the man wouldn't let him finish.

“You've overstayed your welcome, Mister Potter,” he said.

“Fine. I thought we could have a conversation! But if you want to act like… like _this_ , then fine,” the boy proceeded to storm off angrily, slamming the door to the basement shut.

Snape looked at the place where the boy sat. A yellow and red scarf sat on the bench near the boy's teacup. The boy forgot his scarf.

It was inevitable he supposed. The expectations on Potter's part of what their relationship should be. And what friends wouldn't look out for each other? It was humiliating to realize Harry had seen him tolerate the Aurors behavior. Of course the Hero of the Wizarding World couldn't help but take another charity case.

Snape finished the potion. He went back up to take a quick shower and went to sleep, taking the boy's scarf with him. He dreamed of Harry. He woke up and debated whether to attend to his physical needs. In the end he surrendered to the force of his desire and wanked. He thought about how beautiful the boy looked, red cheeks from cold air, unruly mop of hair – when he sat there with him sipping tea. He took the scarf the boy forgot and buried his face in it. The boy's scent was impossible to resist. The pleasure build slowly as he thrusted into his fist, imagining the shy curve of the boy's throat. He finished with the boy's name on his lips.

 

***

 

Harry passed the shop two times before he gathered enough courage to step inside. The bright toys have been taunting him since he first saw them in the morning. He felt his breath quicken and his heart leap into his throat. But he was content to do his necessary shopping before he stopped by and looked. Snape never bought him toys. There was a little charmed stuffed mouse that ran all over the display at pet shop window. A stick with bright feathers attached to one end, a teaser. A catnip coal sack and a ball, with a jingle inside it. He wondered how the mouse would feel under his teeth.

He pushed the door open and a few minutes later he was exiting the shop with a few treats for himself. True, a teaser required a human on the other end to tease him with, but he could simply charm it to move around on its own. He felt ridiculous, but a warm pleasant hum of anticipation settled in his stomach.

That's when the first blow came. He was ducking before he even saw the bright green flash. His instincts were tuned with a new precision, having spent last months as a cat. The air was instantly filled with women screaming. He shielded himself and was looking around, when he found his attacker. Black billowing robe and mask hiding his face. The people cleared the way between them, eager to get away from battling wizards. He didn't dare to shoot him with anything dangerous, for a risk of hitting an innocent person. But he showered the Death Eater with harmless jinxes intent to incapacitate him for a while.

Several of his enemy's spells hit their mark and he was cringing was pain. That's when his luck changed again and several Aurors apparated on sight, shooting the man in black robes with stunning spells.

It was over. Harry stood there still clenching the bag with his toys in his left arm.

 

***

 

He came to Grimmauld place and not a minute later there was an insistent knock on the door. Annoyed he stalked to the entrance only to find very agitated Snape at his door. The man looked pale, his hair out of place, his clothes ruffled as if he'd been in a great hurry. The man eyed him up and then:

“You forgot your scarf.”

“Oh… Thank you,” he took the offered item of clothing. He could've sworn the man’s hands were shaking, “Uhm… Would you like to come in?” Snape hesitated. “Please,” Harry added and he stepped through the door his dark eyes never leaving Harry's form.

“I must enquire Potter, why on Earth there's no one guarding the door?” was the first thing he asked.

Harry walked up the corridor into the living room, before answering.

“So,” he sighed. “You've heard already,” the man gave him a terse nod.

“Kingsley suggested it, but I thought that was a bit much, since no one knows I live here.”

“How foolish. It's most perilous to rest and forget about the danger after what happened today.”

He could tell the man was getting riled up and couldn’t help, but sigh again. Today has been a wearing day. They just settled in the living room, when Harry sat on couch only to wince at the pain.

“What is it?” immediately reacts the man. Snape's eyes glittered strangely as he sized him up.

Harry shifted his oversized tee to reveal a burn on his back.

“Just something I got this afternoon. St. Mungo's gave me healing salve for it.”

“Yes, I am familiar with the poor quality their of batch-brewing. May I ask, why for Heaven's sake, haven't you applied it yet?”

Harry smiled sheepishly:

“I sort of forgot about it? The day has been crazy,” the young man tucked the tee back. “I've just been busy talking to Aurors and then flooing Hermione and trying to assure her I was okay and then Molly flooed in. Oops, I guess.”

The man seemed to come to some kind of a decision as he stood. Harry bolted from the chair to stop Snape from leaving, but the man took the chair and moved it at the center of the room.

“Here,” Snape gestured. “Sit.”

“What? Why?” Harry hesitantly moved to sit at the chair and Snape tugged at his t-shirt.”

“Off,” commanded the man.

“Really, you don't have to bother,” he tried to tug the shirt out of the way, though it was a little painful and mumbled, “I kahn do fis by myshelf.”

But the man wouldn’t listen and soon the air was full with the scent of mint and pepper from the jar. He heard Snape shuffling from side to side, when a cool hand came out of nowhere to grasp at his nape:

“Like so,” Snape's hand positioned his head a little lower.

Soon the cool fingers started to brush the salve into his burns. The effect was immediate. The pain numbs to a gentle throb and Harry sighs appreciatively.

Severus gritted his teeth at the sight of charred skin. Reckless idiot got himself into trouble again. His heart ached from possibilities of what could have happened to the boy, if the Aurors hadn't apparated in time and saved his sorry ass. He's been beside himself when he heard the news, rushing to check on the boy. Thankfully his scarf was enough of excuse.

And now, the warm if tired boy was here. So close he could smell the boy's shampoo and his skin. His scrawny back with jutting vertebrae made him look skinny and vulnerable. He was afraid his hands would shake and betray his dirty attraction to the half-naked youth.

Before he knew it himself Snape's nose buried himself in the boy's unruly mop of hair and inhaled that intoxicating scent. Harry moaned, as if in great pain. Snape jerked away and stepped back from a boy.

“I… I have to leave… I don't know what's gotten into me,” he whispered remorsefully.

“Don't you dare!”

In heartbeat the young man was out of his chair and pressed onto Snape. They were standing so close their breath was mingling with each other’s. The young men made the last step and kissed his companion. Severus's lips were soft and warm. It was only gentle press of lips but they stumbled and Snape fell on the sofa. His eyes were large and black and looked at the boy like he was holding his heart in his palms.

Harry promptly climbed on his lap.

“Feeling bold, aren't we?” deep seductive voice asks.

“I've climbed on your lap a half a dozen times already.”

“So this is no different to you, is it?”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry kissed him again.

Severus's tongue ventured out to lick at the boy's bottom lip, eliciting a moan. He took the boy's glasses off. The kiss deepened into delicious slide of tongues as they rubbed against each other. Snape felt pinned under the boy's small weight and he couldn’t remember if he ever was in such position with someone. His hands wondered down the boy's back and further down to cup his bum. He could feel Harry's length, hot and hard even through his jeans. He ached between his thighs.

He broke the kiss and tucked the thee down to reveal the base of Harry’s throat. He sucked the tender skin in his mouth and Harry's hands ended up tugging in his hair.

“Oh God!” the boy cried, “I need… I want…”

Snape's other hand wondered down the front of Potter's trousers. The boy moaned and rutted against his hand. The man pushed a button free and got inside his trousers, feeling the silky length beneath his fingers. Potter's member was hot against his palm. He gave it an experimental tug and listened to the boy's appreciation of the gesture.

A hand sneaked in to cup his cock. His mouth went slack. The boy was trying to undo his trousers and was failing miserably. Severus gently removed his palm.

“No.”

“Please. Together. Please, Severus,” Snape's heart felt too large for his small chest at the sound of his own name from Potter's lips.

He undid his trousers and tugged himself free. Harry was staring at his dark cock. His own peachy member was hard and leaking. Severus's mouth watered.

“Like this then,” Snape tugged the boy closer and brought their erections together.

It was heavenly. He felt like the weight of the boy was the only thing grounding him from flying off higher and higher above. They wanked their cocks together, rubbing against each other. Severus bit the boy's collar bone, leaving a possessive mark. The young man's face was buried in his own neck, only sounds of pleasure disturbing the cozy soft silence.

The boy came first, going rigid in Snape's hands. Severus followed him shortly, panting and biting his lips from enjoyment. Afterwards Snape uttered a cleaning spell and they lay in each other’s arms, basking in each other’s warmth.

Harry was first to disturb the silence.

“Stay,” he said, blinking at him blearily.

“I can't.”

Harry's face fell.

“I've got an Aurors visit tomorrow morning, I can't be late,” explained the man.

“I understand.”

Snape stood up to rearrange his clothes and Harry put his glasses back on. His shoulders were hunched and it produced an ache deep in Snape's belly. What has he done? How had he allowed himself to touch this beautiful offering? He could still smell the boy's heady scent on his fingers. Harry followed him as he moved to leave.

At the door Snape couldn't bring himself to say anything. No reassurances were dropped from his lips. Only guilty silence was his companion. Those emerald green eyes looked at him with both sadness and joy and he couldn't figure out what the boy was so happy for.

Tentatively he reached out to touch the boy’s bitten lips. They were warm, and oh, so soft, underneath his fingers. Harry took his hand and kissed his open palm.

Not for the first time Snape had wondered what ramification their... affair, could have for his own worn mangled heart. He could already feel sharp rise of his possessiveness in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to take the boy and perform the most severe bonding ritual that is out there, to tie the boy's life to his. He was not a good man.

But even as he left, he didn't feel dark thoughts of ownership and betrayal cloud his mind. No, only the pleasant energy in his bones, that made him feel twenty years younger. He walked and walked the streets in his old fashioned robes, letting muggles stare at his attire. He felt blessed, brand new and he wanted to scream, because the feeling that overwhelmed him made him feel ready to burst with their fire.

Dear God, the boy will never be rid of him now. Even when he'll leave, Severus will hold him in his heart; will watch his life from afar. Will forever be dedicated to this violent tenderness that grew in his heart.

 

***

 

It was half past eight when Severus heard a knock on the door. Although these days he was up quite early, it was still un ungodly hour for visitors. The Aurors couldn't possibly come that early. He braced himself against an unpleasant surprise and went to open the door. It might have been a nosy neighbor after a cup of flour or salt, or some stranger asking for directions.

It was neither of those. Harry stood there on his doorstep, a toothy grin plastered on that sunny face. He clutched a paper bag, that smelt divine.

“Hello,” he said.

Severus sighed.

“I know what you're trying to do, Potter.”

“Do you?” he grinned. “Well, we're too overdressed for what I'm thinking if you catch my drift.”

There was a pop of apparition and two men, dressed in Auror robes approached the house. Snape's shoulders tensed. What kind of trouble the brat has gotten himself into now?”

“Oi, Harry,” the dark skinned man greeted.

“Hullo, Henry, Sam,” the young man shook his hands with the Aurors.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Severus addressed the Aurors.

“Good Morning, Mister Snape. Your monthly Aurors checkup is here.”

For a moment the world blanched in Snape's eyes. But he stepped away from the door to let the two new Ministry workers pass. He didn’t know what was the stronger emotion welling in his stomach: rage or relief.

“Well, how have you been, Mister Snape? No strange occurrences, nothing out of ordinary?” the other Auror asked.

“No, I'm afraid nothing that would require closer inspection. I brew the potions from the Ministry's list and sell them to Jenkin's at Diagon, which you may as well check with him, if you wish.”

“Good, good,” the Aurors says.

Harry made himself at home in Snape's kitchen, while the Aurors asked him questions. They asked if any of his old acquaintances contacted him with suspicious requests, if his mark bothered him this past month, if he planned on moving or undertaking some sort of task that needed Ministry's attention.

They shook his hand when they left and Snape leaned against closed door, eyes clothed. He breathed in the warm stale air and allowed himself to feel it expand and shrink in his lungs. This was all Potter's doing, he realized. The boy must have pulled some strings at the Ministry and changed the Aurors for his check-up. He walked to the kitchen in carefully measured steps, not to alert the boy to his rocky emotional state.

“Interfering in my personal affairs yet again,” he said barely angry.

“Henry and Sam are good guys, they won't cause you any trouble. Promise.”

“I suppose I owe you a thank you,” he admitted.

The boy looked at him with unexpectedly serious expression:

“I didn't know how you would react to this, but I had to do it. There's no excuse for treating a war hero like crap and you are.”

“I am what, exactly?”

“A hero.”

A rare warmth climbed its way from Snape's stomach onto his cheeks. He supposed he might have been blushing. Harry has arranged a ruddy meat pie on the plates. They sat down to eat and drink tea. Conversation flowed easily, as long as they stayed away from sensitive topics. Snape stole random glances at the young man's face, his hair and his hands, trying not to stare and failing miserably. The boy's fingers were bitten and unkempt, his hair wild bird's nest, his delicate eyebrows moving up and down on attractive face. He longed to hold Potter against him. Wanted to insert himself into space the boy occupied and made impossibly lovely just by his presence. In the end he set down the tea cup:

“I must get to work.”

There was no objection coming from Potter's lips and he didn’t look at all disappointed.

“I know,” he said, “You can leave me be, you know.”

“Mister Potter, I'm not leaving you free to roam around in my house as you please.”

“Look what I've got to entertain myself,” the boy answered by pulling something writhing and shiny from his pocket.

These were cat toys, Snape realized. A moving white mouse, a shiny ball with a jingle inside of it and a feathered teaser charmed to wander aimlessly.

“You will ruin my home,” he whispered horrified.

Harry promptly transformed into a cat. A familiar animal was sitting in the place where the boy was. The cat jumped underneath the table and proceeded to rub on Snape's feet.

“Fine, you insufferable creature,” he sighed eventually.

Harry spent the morning chasing around the ball and the mouse. The mouse was particularly delightful since it ran all over the house and Harry strained to catch it, only to release it back again. He transformed back into a human with a mouse in his jaws closer to lunch. He spit the mouse out and rummaged the kitchen cabinets, wondering what to prepare for dinner. He settled on rice with vegetables and spent the rest of his time humming in contentment and cooking.

He was done by the time Snape emerged from the basement, grumpy and smelling of potions. They settled for the lunch and Harry was finally brave enough to ask the question that has been bothering him the most.

“So,” he started, “You and my mum, huh.”

Snape gives him long inscrutable look.

“What about Lily and me you wish to know?”

“I saw you and her in your memories. You met on a playground. You loved her.”

“I… Yes, she was a friend.”

A sudden thought pierces Harry's head.

“Her house is not far from here isn't?” he cried.

“Contain yourself, Potter.”

“Could we go there? Where she used to live?”

“That house doesn't belong to Evanses anymore, Potter,” sighed Snape. He ate the rice dividing the batch into small grid of squares on a plate. Harry was momentarily distracted.

“Still. I'd like to go. If you don't mind that is.”

“I've finished the brewing for today. We may go and look at the house, though I don't personally understand the appeal this endeavor would have for you.”

“Wicked!”

They went out of the house after some tea. The sun was high on a horizon and the weather was still warm. Harry pointed to the things he saw in Snape's memories and Severus was surprised how little had changed in his poor neighborhood. The closer they were to Lily's house the chattier the brat got. Severus understood his nervousness and didn't try snap the boy back.

Soon they stood in front of yellow house with white windows. Lily's home.

“They changed the color,” Harry said disappointed.

“They had the right to do so.”

“I suppose,” he looked at him with those large moss green eyes. “How was it in the past?”

He was suddenly afraid the boy would start crying, and his eyes did look suspiciously wet. He started speaking before he could’ve thought of what he would do if the boy fell apart in front of the house.

“Your grandparents were very good people. Your grandmother shared your mother’s eyes. Lily would always bring me baked pastries from the house, even when I told her repeatedly that I wasn't hungry.”

It wasn't true of course. The food around the house was always scarce and he relished and resented the bits from Evans' table.

“They were charmed with your mother, with what she could do,” he continued. “Always so very excited about magic. It was unexpected to me they didn't resent her for it.”

As his father had.

“Your grandfather was a lawyer. It was common in the house to have discussions around his work. He cultivated a sense of fairness in your mother.”

He's been around their house quite often, if fleetingly, before they both went to Hogwarts. His interactions with them were filled with anxiety about his clothes, the part of neighborhood he lived in and his parents. He could never have felt that he belonged and yet. He still remembers both of them to this day.

“Come,” he said.

He lead Harry to the playground he saw in his memories. The swings have been renovated, but they were still there. The young man walked, lost, between the swing sets until he settled in of the them.

“At first I used to think if I was more polite than Dudley, would clean around the house, would keep my clothes neat and tidy, and get good grades, she would love me like she loved Dudley,” the boy confessed. “Aunt ‘Tuney, I mean.”

Something painful lodges in Snape's heart. He can't quite look the boy in the eyes. He takes a look around the empty playground and options for sitting in the second swing.

“But I quickly got the name of the game,” it was “Harry always brings trouble”. “I could never have their love. I used to dream about my parents, about my mother. Wonder if she loved me.”

“I imagine quite greatly,” he answered curtly.

Harry smiled at him. Something unclenched its grip on Snape's chest.

“Tell me something about her.”

“Very well. We watched the Moon landing together.”

“No way!”

“We were both nine years old at the time, I believe. It was a middle of a summer and for more than a week it was on the television. There was big clock on television with simple animations and TV commentary. She made me dine with your parents for whole week,” his companion listened to him raptly. “Your mother was very excited. We pretended to be astronauts in their back yard. She stole a packet of flour and we spilled it on the ground and walked on it pretending it was the lunar surface,” the memory brought a smile to his face. “And at night we looked at the stars and moon and she would wonder what lay beyond our little solar system. She told me what she knew about the constellations and that her favorite star was North Star. For it was always still to guide people, to show them the way.”

“Nobody had ever told me so much about her.”

Snape reflected on a bizarreness of the situation he found himself in. Sitting on those swings with Harry Potter, son of Lily, when he was at fault in her death. Such a strange twist of fate he came to have feelings for this particular boy. And yet it wasn't. For Harry shared the same inner light that Lily had possessed, the light that drew him to his long lost friend so many years ago. The boy grew up neglected and abandoned and yet he was kind, something Severus couldn't say about himself.

They walked back in comfortable silence. The sunset painted Potter's skin gold and Severus was sure it made no such artistic allowances on his pale skin. They exchanged a few looks, but always the young man was smiling, when Snape looked at him. His own expression was closed off, thoughtful. For the painful memories that haunted him so many years have been rendered dull, stripped of their sharp teeth, as if blessed by the boy. Only Harry remained there, in his heart. A writhing mess of longing and lust, its torment as sweet as it is sour.

They stepped over threshold and after the door was closed Harry reached for him. Severus kissed him gently on the mouth. He worried the boy's bottom lip between his teeth, careful not to draw blood. Softly he reached inside his mouth with his tongue and Harry moaned his pleasure into Snape's open mouth. They stumbled into the living room against the closed bookcase. Snape waved his wand and the door cracked open. He took the young man's hand and lead him upstairs. The bedroom was clean and silent when they entered.

Once they looked at each other Severus took time to carefully take the clothes off Harry's back. The younger wizard didn’t fight him, only smiling every time Snape's hands grazed the naked skin. When the t-shirt was gone, Snape's hands reached for his belt. He unbuckled it and went to unzip his worn jeans. Harry simply looked at Severus's face, passive in his observance. The man appeared to be mesmerized by him. The pants were gone and Harry remained clad in only pair of boxers. The Potion's master's fingers sneaked in to graze the front of his boxers. Harry moaned.

“You're...” Severus breatheed and took in Harry's naked form.

“Not much, I kn... mpfrr,” Snape kissed him again, hungrily this time.

Gone were the tentative touches his stole earlier. He circled Harry in his arms and asked him:

“Are you absolutely sure...?”

“Gods, yes, please.”

“Is this your first time with a man?” he asked searchingly.

“No, I've done this lots,” Harry joked and Snape frowned. “In my mind,” ‘with you’ Harry added silently.

Instead of confessing this was his first time ever - doing this sort of thing with anyone, he opted for jumping on a bed and giving Snape a nervous smile. Severus looked at the boy and striped with the usual grace. His movements were not seductive, but mechanical and abrupt. Harry had seen him do this a dozen times before, but it seemed different now.

The clothes were folded neatly on a chair and Snape sat at the edge of a bed. Harry reaches for him instantly.

“Have you changed your mind?” the man asked uncertainly.

Harry hugged him from behind and the man was silent for a moment. Then he turned and kissed Harry, climbing on top of him.

“Never thought this day would come,” he said quietly.

Severus noted the way Harry's breath changed when he suckd in his nipples, the shades and color of his flushed skin, the noises the boy made when he was being kissed all over, the shy growth of hair underneath his arms. Slowly, he stripped him of the last item of clothing and took an eyeful of the boy's lovely ruddy cock.

“My, my. Look at what we gave here,” purred the man seductively.

“Oh, God, don't look at him like that…”

“Like, what Mister Potter?”

“Like you're about to eat it.”

The man tugged the boy's knees apart and settled his jaw on Harry's balls. He gave them tentative lick.

The boy was keening loudly by the time Snape had finished exploring that area with his mouth.

“Maybe I am about to eat it,” he smiled.

“Oh, God,” Harry moaned.

There was warm wet sensation on his prick and then it was engulfed into Snape's velvety mouth. It was incredible. Harry tried to think about something, anything unsexy, straining not to come right then and there. He barely registered the spell being uttered, if only because the amazing sucking sensation ceases for a moment. There was a tingle near his entrance and then oil slick finger pressed against his pucker.

He was lost in an act of fellatio once again once Snape resumed his efforts. There was a delicious spot the fingers in his bum grazed against that made him moan even louder. Snape bit the inside of his thigh in response, and Harry bent in throes of pleasure and came in the man's mouth.

“Noisy, aren't we?”

Harry giggled like a schoolgirl, still recovering from the orgasm. Snape added a third finger and the younger man felt stretched beyond his ability, full. He felt open and vulnerable and his cock has gone flaccid.

“It's not too late to stop,” the man warned.

“Hey,” the boy tugged the man up until they faced each other. “I'm all right. I want you to.”

The kiss was deep and needy and Snape licked his way into Harry's mouth with a new urgency. The young man felt himself warming up again.

“It would be easier if you were on your knees.”

“No, I want to see you, Severus,” the name was both alien and familiar on his tongue, like coming home from a long break.

“I need to bend you,” the man said softly.

Harry put his legs a little higher and laid them on his lover's shoulders. His partner's gaze was smoldering with passion, his cheeks gone ugly red.

“Like this?”

Snape tried not to spend himself from the picture alone. His fingers went in and out of Potter's pink pucker, slick and shiny with oil, the boy's coltish legs spread beneath him, his cock firming up again. The picture worth a thousand words. And most important of all, the boy's eyes shined with mirth and lust. His soft upper lip, swollen with Severus's kisses. He was the most beautiful thing the man had ever seen and sure to remain that way for all eternity to come.

Slowly he pushed himself inside the boy. The young man's arms came up to grip him on his shoulders, their hold almost painful.

“Bear down on me. Yes, like so…”

Harry felt impossible stretched and electrifying bits of pain flared up in his bum. He tried to breathe, as his body slowly adjusted to the penetration. The man had gone to nuzzle and kiss at his nipples again, sheathed all the way inside.

His attention shifted to Harry's throat and his hand sneaked in to wank Harry's cock. Slowly they started to rock together. In and out, the steady rhythm erasing all the pain from his channel. Harry felt naughty and free and pushed back against Severus's cock.

The man moaned and shifted their position and his cock grazed a spot inside of Harry that made him squirm with pleasure, his knees shaking, his toes curling from the sensation.

“Do that again!” he yelled out.

Severus complied.

“Ngh… Again, again, again, oh, please, Severus...”

The man was lost in the boy's tightness, his sweet mouth blabbering nonsense, as Severus thrusted into him. Harry placed kisses on his upper shoulder, his hands traveled down Snape's back and clutched at his buttocks. The thrusts reached their peak and Severus came first, spending himself completely. Harry had risen from the bed to kiss him, still hard. The man bent to suck the boy's cock into his mouth. It took him a minute before Harry groaned his release.

They laid there for a while, content. Harry traced a pattern on Snape's ribs and placed kisses here and there. He then shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

“I'm sticky down there… better head for the shower,” he got up and Snape's eyes traced him to the bathroom.

“Hey, you hanged my shower curtain,” he yelled.

“Interesting, was I not supposed to use it for its purpose? Should I maybe have hanged that curtain over my window?” Snape asked sarcastically.

“What are you saying, can't really hear ya there?”

“Nevermind, you little menace.”

The boy was quick, but Severus was still impatient to be the next one to shower. He supposed he could use the spell, but his sweaty body could use the shower, as could his aching muscles. It turned out sex was quite an exercise for his body in his age. Who knew. When Harry emerged he brushed past him and went to the bathroom next.

In the shower Snape traced the lines Harry's hands followed down his body, the invisible marks left by his kisses. He felt peculiar, at sea with his surroundings. His dingy damp bathroom and the walls of his home seemed too familiar and safe for what he was feeling. He wished for open air, for wind, for the sound of the sea claiming shore.

When he was out, there was no one in the bedroom. There's a moment of fleeting panic and he checked under the bed for Potter's other form. He came downstairs and heard the plates clanging. There was a delicious smell in the air and he found Potter fuming in the kitchen.

“Scrambled eggs, with some tomatoes,” he announced. “Sorry, there's nothing else in fridge and I'm starving. All that physical activity,” he smiles conspicuously.

“Brat,” Severus called affectionately.

And they sat to eat.

 

**Epilogue:**

 

The sun painted the sky in crimson, maroon and mahogany. He was out watching the sunset. Enjoying the warmth and the salty wind. His heart was peaceful, finally content with his surroundings. The nature's wild music filled his ears.

Ha had bought himself a cottage, near the sea. It took him five years to save money for it – Harry has been absolutely unhelpful, trying to get him to move to Grimmauld Place. Of course, there was also the fact that he kept his plans silent. The money he made of the potions on Ministry's safe list barely made him a living. But since the ban was lifted two years ago, he made profit patenting his formulas for a number of potions. He lived free and at peace with his tired worn heart, here. And the occasional cat wondered in his rooms now and then.

The walk back to the cottage got some sand in his shoes. He always forgot to charm his shoes impervious to it. He stepped in through the backdoor. The walls were painted white, lined with many bookshelves. The living room sofa was covered in garish blanket Harry picked up in one of their travels. The ban was lifted nearly year ago, resulting in short trip to Morocco. They've been unable to leave the country since, too busy with mundane affairs.

“God, my book on Defensive Spells has got to be here!” Harry announced when Snape came in.

“Are you sure it's not in Black's house?”

“No, I've already checked every corner of my house and didn't find it,” Severus made noncommittal noise, silently going to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

“I'm going mental, you hear, _mental_ between your place and mine, Severus! Can't find anything these days!”

“Maybe you should consider other options then,” called the man from the kitchen.

Harry came through and settled on a chair opposite Snape.

“I don't understand. What options are there?” he frowned. “Are you kicking me out?”

The mug Snape was holding landed with a bang.

“Rather the opposite, you idiot!”

“Oh… You want me to move in with you?” Severus hmped in an answer to that question and reached across the table to brush the fringe off Harry's forehead.

“You _are_ ,” Harry beamed.

“Is that a yes?” the boy stood up and bent to kiss him. Their press of lips was deep, slow and happy. And he missed the boy while he out for walk. How utterly foolish.

“Yes” Harry said finally, out of breath.

 

All was well.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first finished fic. I hope you enjoyed it. Leave a review and tell me what you think!


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